


The Further Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow: A Cheri Yuconovich intrusion

by animefreak



Category: Pirates of the Carribean
Genre: Adventure, Curses, F/M, Time Travel, feathered serpents, sailing ships, treasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak





	The Further Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow: A Cheri Yuconovich intrusion

The Further Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow  
A Cheri Yuconovich Intrusion

Chapter One

“It all started with a plane crash on a rocky volcanic intrusion of an island.” The man dictating frowned. That wasn’t exactly right. The story started much earlier, in the wild days of the Spanish Main when pirates, privateers and free traders vied with the British East India Company to capture the golden treasures of the area. He cleared his throat and started again. “My involvement started with a plane crash.

“Dramatic, but not exactly true,” came a comment from behind him as a couple of warm arms slid around his neck from behind. A decided chin came to rest on top of his head.

He shifted to look up into her improbably green eyes and gave her a wry look. “At least it’s not writing gibberish when I talk anymore,” he pointed out reasonably; trying very hard to ignore the response the hot look in those eyes was arousing in him.

She shifted around the chair to straddle his legs. A wicked grin curved her lips. Damn her. He gave up all pretense of trying to look at the computer screen and wrapped his arms around her. “Did you want ……” Coherent speech and thought ceased for a moment as their mouths met hungrily.

A chuckle drew them apart. Cheri looked over his head to the tanned, outrageous figure leaning against one side of the doorway. Black rimmed eyes danced with amusement, a smile curving his mouth under the moustache. He straightened, the smile vanishing, nodded and faded into the darkness beyond the door.

A sigh escaped the man beneath her. “I do wish he wouldn’t do that.”

She looked down into the nearly identical eyes in a paler face and smiled gently. “He’ll get things together soon enough. It’s been a rough couple of centuries. Now, where were we ….?”

“Not here,” he objected. He appreciated the sensuous movements as she moved off of his lap and extended an inviting hand to him. Taking it, he left his dictation for a while.

Sometime later, John Sparrow sat down to try dictating his story again. With a wry grin, he corrected where he started his part of a story that began over four centuries before with Cortez and a chest of cursed Aztec gold.

Two years ago, an aged but well maintained Piper Cub skimmed out of the sky over a volcanic island, engines sputtering and finally dying. The pilot, calling out a mayday as she fought to keep the plane aloft, found that her radio was filled with static. She could not be certain that the call for help was getting through. Shades of the Bermuda Triangle, she thought as she set down on the jagged rocks of the island. This was not how she had planned to spend her vacation in the Caribbean.

Kitrin Elkins, daughter of Kimberly Elkins and heir to Kimberly Elkins International, Inc., looked at the desolate landscape and sighed. Mom would not be happy with this adventure. The trim, honey blonde woman stepped out of the cockpit to check the damage to the plane. That was some expensive damage. The undercarriage and landing gear were sadly crumpled. The body was scraped, but not holed. That was good. Landing gear could be replaced pretty easily once the plane was rescued.

She frowned at the spur of rock she stood on. Then again, getting the plane to a rescue ship could be interesting, to put it mildly. She pulled out the emergency kit and turned on the homing beacon; setting aside the flares for when there was a chance they might be noticed by a passing plane. She tried the radio again. It was working, but still there was no answering signal. There was no way she could have hit the area of disturbance known as the Bermuda Triangle. None at all. She checked her maps and confirmed that her heading was nowhere near the Triangle.

She pulled on a windbreaker, broke out a sandwich and a bottle of water from her cooler and went walking. The island looked small from the air, but that could be deceptive. She confirmed her first impression of volcanic, although the sharp edges of cooled lava were beginning to soften from wind and water exposure. There was dark dirt and sand in the nooks and crannies, and the beginnings of vegetation from wind and sea borne seeds. She decided the island couldn’t be more than a few centuries old due to its still barren look.

A couple of hours walk took her to a cliff overlooking a black sand beach that seemed inaccessible from the cliffs. As there wasn’t a way down to the sand that didn’t look to include mountain climbing gear and lots of scrapes and scratches, Kit decided to leave visiting it until she was rescued. She continued walking for another hour before returning to the plane for the night. The radio still gave only static response to her mayday calls.

Night fell, a little cooler than she had anticipated. Fog rolled up from the water, shrouding the island. Kit was grateful that the heater was in the little plane still worked. She pulled a couple of thick fleece throws and two thermal blankets out of the storage beneath one of the rear seats. She spent a warm, if not entirely comfortable, night in the plane.

Sunrise burned away the fog around the plane. The extra warmth awakened the young woman inside. She yawned, stretched and clambered out of the plane to work out kinks and take care of morning business as she admired the golden glow of the day. She checked the beacon to make certain it was working, tried the radio again and sat down to wait.

Morning waned into afternoon. Restless, Kit turned north to explore more of the rock on which she’d landed. This time she took a backpack to carry water, of which the island didn’t seem to have any but the sea surrounding it, her last sandwich, a military rations packet, a flashlight and flares, just in case help arrived and she wasn’t back at the plane.

The north end of the island included a stretch of lava and coral reefs. The sun had yet to burn the fog bank inside the arms of the reefs away. She walked out along the cliffs as far as she could and looked down into water as clear and blue as that of Bermuda and the other islands. From her vantage point she could see fish swimming lazily around the reefs. Not fish, sharks, she realized, hammerhead sharks. She wondered if this was a normal area for them. Then she realized that they were not swimming around just the ragged edges of the reefs, but around and through the remains of more than a dozen wrecked ships. She lay down on the edge of the cliff, wishing for binoculars or a telescope. At this distance all she could make out were the black blotches of broken hulls sitting in the sand and across the reef outcroppings.

Something about the wreckage made her shiver. What could have driven so many ships to this island to end here, their crews drowning as the ships broke up on the rocks? She had no illusions about the sailors on those ships being able to swim to shore. There was no shore, only rocks and death.

She walked back along the ridge of cliff. The fog was gone now, revealing a snug anchorage inside the arms of reef. The cove was not very large. Two ships might have occupied it without running afoul of each other. Then Kit sat down abruptly, her mouth dropping open, as she took in the skeletal masts and ancient hull of the ship sitting just about centered in the cove. The ship was black from her ornate bowsprit to the stern. Three masts lifted skyward like the fingers of a skeleton. Shreds of sails hung limply from her cross pieces. Kit closed her eyes and shook her head to clear the phantom from her sight. When she opened them again, it was still there, the ghost of a ship at anchor in the silent port.

Kit closed her mouth and got to her feet determined to find a way down to that ship. If it was here, there had to be a way to get to it. She spent the rest of the day exploring the ragged cliff faces for some sign of passage down to the water. There was none. She made her way back to the plane as darkness closed in trying to figure out why the hell anyone would make anchorage in that cove if there were nothing on the island to be there for or any way to get to it if there was.

As she climbed into the cockpit, on answer occurred to her. If the ship and its crew were hiding from something, or someone, it was a snug berth if you knew your way in past the reefs. She sat in the plane, under her blankets, trying to identify the type of ship and just exactly when it might have sailed through the treacherous passage into the cove. With no fresh water source, which was beginning to worry at the back of her mind, and no food source she could find, why put into the cove? If they were hiding from searchers, what kind of searchers would be looking for a ship like that? A black ship with tattered sails, the thought came to her. Wasn’t there something in all that tedious history her Aunt Cheri tried to teach her about black ships? Pirate ships, maybe?

She considered this. Ok, there were the remains of a pirate ship sitting in a quiet cove, surrounded by wrecks and reefs, near an island with nothing to recommend it to anyone, unless you needed a lot of pumice. She fell asleep still puzzling and wondering what was taking her mother so long to come rescue her.

Morning arrived with stiff muscles and a crick in her neck that did not want to go away. She popped a couple of painkillers to help work out the crick, drank a half liter of water and decided that maybe fresh fish would be good to add to her diet if she was going to be here much longer. She looked for a good place to set up a water still in the rocks. They heated up nicely during the day and with the moisture in the air, should manage to provide her with enough drinking water to keep her alive for a while.

There was still the question of how to get down to the water in the cove. She added a rope to her backpack and went straight to the cove. The cliffs were not as steep here and with a little work, she could get down to the water. She hoped high and low tide didn’t make much difference in getting back up. She frowned at the fog bank sitting on the water, surrounding the ship. What if the ship was a mirage? What if it was actually sitting on the bottom, luring in unwary travelers? Kit made a rude noise. What travelers? There hadn’t been anyone here in a long time. Probably not since that ship anchored here. If the ship were as seaworthy as it looked, maybe it would provide shelter for her until the rescue party arrived. It was beginning to look like it might take search and rescue a while to find her.

The fog dissipated as Kit worked her way slowly down the rock face until she could see that the water just below her was clear of the kind of rock fall that so frequently littered the water edge of cliffs. She played out the rest of the rope until it dangled into the water and slid down until she was floating. The face of the cliff was worn below the water, but it was still rough. Rushing waves could easily destroy a human against that surface. She was thankful that the cove was sheltered, the sea calm as she released the rope and turned to swim slowly toward the ship. It was not a mirage. She could see the black bulk of the hull clearly, although the water right around the ship seemed oddly dark. She dismissed the illusion as a reflection of the black hull.

As she moved closer, she could see fish swimming in the water. That was a good sign. The sun shone down on the dark hull, highlighting the growths on the underside. Now she could see banks of barnacles and limpets attached to the hull and to each other, destroying the clean water cleaving lines of the hull beneath the water. Seaweed, anchored to the wood, streamed out around the hull, darkening the water. She worked to stay clear of entanglement as she shivered, suddenly cold as she felt the immense sense of age surrounding the ship

Ancient ropes dangled down the side of the ship. She took a deep breath and grabbed one of the rope ends, suppressing a shudder at the slimy feel. The rope broke apart as she placed tension on it. Great. The end rolled against the curve of the hull about five feet above the water line. Treading water, she looked at the curve above her again and began to make out holes and dents in the wood. Not only was the ship old, she was battered.

Kit found some handholds just above the water line. Glad she had worn her shoes into the water, she worked her way up the side of the ship. Rotted wood came away under her fingers in places. She had to be very careful as she climbed. By the time she clambered over the rail at the top, she had a number of splinters in her hands. She carefully lowered her weight to the deck and was relieved when the wood beneath her feet held.

She worked the splinters out of her hands before going any further. Infection could maim or even kill in a place like this. Her first thought on looking around was that her Aunt Cheri would kill for a find like this. Her second thought was that a falling out among the crew had not been very intelligent. Skeletons littered the deck. Either there were no survivors, or not enough to take care of the bodies, leaving them where they fell. For just a moment, she considered the terror of some bacterial or viral malady striking the crew all at once. Then she noticed the rusted blade of a sword still shoved through the ribcage of one skeleton and decided her first analysis was probably correct.

As she moved with due care across the deck toward the cabins at the aft end of the ship, she wondered what had driven the crew into such a frenzy of killing. Gold and silver glimmered here and there in and around the bones. Rings, chains and bracelets that had adorned these men in life, remained with them in death. She shivered at the viciousness of the fight that ended the lives of this crew. What madness had claimed them?

Inside the cabin, the flooring was still good, protected from the elements as it had been by the upper deck. The remains of goods lay around the furnishings. The glass was long since shattered from the windows at the stern, allowing the sunlight free play over the ruins of what must once have been rich fabrics. The frames and paneling were water damaged from rain. The floor was soft under the windows, but the rest was solid enough. A chest lay undisturbed in one corner, somewhat weathered, but whole. Curious, she opened it and gasped. Inside, protected for decades, maybe centuries, lay the brocades and velvets of a rich woman’s garb.

Mindful of her aunt’s teaching, she closed the chest. If she ever managed to get rescued off this god-forsaken island, was her aunt going to love this find. The sound of an engine overhead shook her out of her thoughts and sent her racing for the deck. The sound of wood cracking under her weight as she hit a rotten spot in the deck just outside the doors of the cabin was the last thing she heard for a while.

Kit awoke in darkness. The smell of rot and salt water filled her head. Panic sent her to her feet, sliding across the slime and water covered timbers beneath her. Flailing hands met metal bars as she fetched up against some sort of cage. Trembling in fear, she grabbed onto the bars. They crumbled under her grip until only a slender solid piece remained for her cold fingers to cramp around. Where the hell was she? She remembered sunlight and a chest and the sound of an airplane motor. That was it. Memory filtered back and she cursed herself for a fool as she realized what she’d done. In her haste, she’d forgotten the exposed deck was riddled with rot outside the cabin.

Wonderful, rotten wood at just the wrong moment had probably just cost her a quick rescue. She swallowed hard as she recognized that it could have taken her life if her luck hadn’t held.

The hold of the ship was pitch black. She suspected this meant it was dark outside, as the holes in the sides of the ship admitted no light. She searched through her sodden backpack by touch, locating her flashlight and praying that the lifetime guarantee meant it would work now, not that it was replaceable if it was broken.

The familiar glow of the light lifted her spirits. A dilapidated sailing ship in the dark wasn’t her first pick for where to spend the night, but it was better than being dead. The light shown on rusted metal. Cages. The brig? Possibly. The cages were large enough to hold several men. The light played across the flooring beneath her, slightly awash with water. Not a good place to stay, she decided.

Carefully, she worked her way around the area until she found the steps leading upward. These she tackled slowly, making certain there would be no sudden descent due to the wood giving way beneath her again.

The next level was apparently the galley. She hoped it was the galley. There was a heavy table on its side and bones that did not look human mixed in with heavy metal plates and bowls. She located a door that fell away from its hinges at her touch, scaring her badly before she realized age and rot were responsible for the door nearly falling on her, not some skeletal hand. She walked over the door and moved out into another area with more steps leading upward. Then she was out on deck. The moon, full and pale, slipped out from behind the clouds just as she stepped out. The effect was startling. Bathed in the pale light, the ship looked ominous; the bones that glimmered white here and there sending strange shivering signals to the most primitive part of her being.

She wasn’t quite sure why she retreated into what she was calling the captain’s cabin. It felt sheltered and safe, in spite of the light breeze coming through the window frames. There she swept away the debris of the long since disintegrated mattress on the bed frame, pulled out the heavy gowns and material lengths in the chest and made a warm nest for herself. She nibbled at her rations and drank sparingly of her water until she fell asleep.

She roused about daybreak from dreams troubled by shadowy figures always fighting and visions of a death’s head cast in gold.

 

Chapter Two

Kit wandered out of the Captain’s cabin the next morning stretching and yawning. She avoided the hole that dumped her into the brig the day before. The perpetual fog bank that surrounded the ship was in full force, making her regret leaving the warmth of her nest. She looked up into the fog wondering if the airplane she heard the day before had found her wrecked vehicle and left or if it had tried to land. She shook her head to clear the fuzzy thinking. No pilot in his or her right mind would try to land on this rock. But they might have seen the cove and be bringing in boats to locate her.

She laughed at that. Then again, seeing the cove with its lone ancient occupant might not have encouraged them to send in boats. She hoped the over flight had at least seen and marked her wreck for checking out by the local equivalent of the coast guard.

In the mean time, she was out of food and water. She looked over the side into the fog wishing she hadn’t started out on this hare-brained portion of her adventure. Now she had to get back into the water and up the cliff she’d climbed down, which she didn’t relish trying to do in the thick fog. She shivered eloquently against the clammy damp. This was a tropical, if barren island. Why was the fog so cold? She stepped back from the rail and jumped as her foot hit something that rolled away from her with an odd lumpy sound. She scolded herself silently. There were skeletons everywhere up here. That was probably just a skull she’d dislodged. The thought gave her the creeps. Why hadn’t she waited to come explore the ship?

A rueful grin curved her mouth as she realized that she was simply following in the footsteps of her mother and her aunt. Neither of them could have resisted taking a look at this relic first, before rescue came to help out. There was something primitive and thrilling about being the first on a ghost ship after all this time. Still, the fog did not help the odd feeling she got that there were more ghosts here than the ship.

When the sun finally persuaded the fog to surrender to its attack, Kit was thirsty and hungry. She left the backpack on the ship. Tucking the flashlight into her waistband, she dove cleanly off the side of the ship and into the water, away from the trailing fronds of seaweed. Schools of small fish scattered around her intrusion.

The bottom of the cove wasn’t very far down. Kit reversed and hit the sand feet first, shoving off toward the shimmer of the surface. She hated the sting of saltwater in her eyes. Her head broke the surface and she shook her hair out of her face, wiping the water from her face before setting out for the cliff. Again, the water was calm, only tiny wavelets lapping at the bottom of the cliff.

The rope was gone..

For a moment she tread water in shock. Who the hell could have removed her rope? And why would they have done so? If rescue was here, why not go out to the ship and look for her? She scanned the face of the cliff once more, thinking she might somehow have missed the five feet or so of by now sodden rope she left dangling into the water. No. The rope was definitely gone.

She considered panicking. There was someone else on the island. That was the only explanation. But if there was, why hadn’t that person contacted her? Then again, if there was someone on the island, maybe they had a reason not to want to be found. She felt herself tiring as she continued to tread water and consider her options. To have something to do, she turned back toward the ship. The black hull was shifting slightly at its anchorage. The bowsprit now faced her and she could see past the ship to the narrowing area of the cove where it disappeared into a crevice. She angled toward the crevice. With a start, she realized it was the mouth of a cave. Well, maybe the water would be shallow inside and she could figure a way back to the top of the island from there.

She swam for several minutes before taking a deep breath and heading into the comparative darkness of the cavern entrance. The water was shallower here, although it was still over her head by a couple of feet. The walls angled down under the water giving her a place to rest now and then until she reached down with a foot and hit her toe on the bottom. She released a pent up breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was getting very dark around her. The sunlight from the cove did not penetrate this far inside. She moved forward, using her hands on the walls to guide her until she could stand. The water was up to her chin, and cold, but it was no longer dangerous to her.

She rephrased that thought as her foot slipped and her head went under the water. She pulled the flashlight out of her waistband and clicked it on. Waterproof flashlights were wonderful. The sight that met her stinging eyes made her blink even after she got her head above water again. She looked down through the clear water and saw the gleam of gold.

At her feet, and trailing off into the darkness, was a stream of gold coins kept bright by the flow of water over them. She thought about that and tried to determine which way the water was flowing. Very slightly, it flowed past her toward the cave mouth. Fresh water. It had to be fresh water flowing out to the sea. The rational part of her mind that realized seawater could just be flowing from one end of the island to the other was silenced in her excitement over finding a source of fresh water. She plunged forward until she stumbled up a rocky pathway into a surprisingly large cave practically paved with treasure.

For the second time in two days, her mouth dropped open in shock. She fell back against a rock outcropping, dislodging a pile of coin and jewelry that slithered down to the floor of the cave to mingle with other coins and jewelry already piled there. She stared at the gold. She stared at the sunshine pouring through holes in the ceiling not more than twenty feet above her head at the highest. She gazed in incomprehension at the pools of water dotting the cavern. Finally, pulling her battered thought processes together by main force and closing her mouth, she stepped over the litter of treasure to one of the pools. She stuck her fingers into the water and lifted them to her mouth. The water tasted a little brackish, but far more fresh than salt. She cupped her hands and drank, slaking her thirst, but not drinking as deeply as she really wanted. Brackish water could cause problems in its own right if she drank too much at once.

She leaned back to look around the cavern again. Having grown up with money, she tried to assess the amount of gold in the cavern to make it meaningful. She failed. There was just too much of it. She reached over to pick up a piece and found it sheathed over in a thin layer of clear stone. That brought her to her feet. It took time to layer things in stone from dripping water. This had been here for a while.

The ship. Was this the secret of the ship in the cove? She stared at the piles of money, jewels and goods as she made her way around the cave. Some of it was still loose, like the scattering of coins she’d knocked down as she entered. Some was held in place by very thin veneers of water washed stone. The bottom layers were solidly held in place by a heavy layer of shimmering stone. The place was treasure trove and incredible monument at the same time.

It was then the stone chest and the skeleton draped down its side caught her eye. It sat on a rocky point, treasure heaped around the rock until it was sturdy underfoot. There was no dripping stalactite overhead, so there was no layering of stone over the thing. A few tattered rags clung to the skeleton, wisps of dark, damp hair were held in place by a dark strip of fabric to the fleshless skull. One hand curved over the rim of the chest while the other arm reached into it, the bones of the hand curled around a handful of gleaming golden coins.

Kit gasped as she focused on the coins. The pre-Columbian motif of skull-centered medallion was the one from her dreams. Her feet slipped on coins as she started to back away sending her slithering down the slope from the chest to come to rest beside a pool of water.

“A little clumsy, there, wench.”

Panic rose in her chest as a hazy figure, seated negligently on the corner of the chest, solidified into a rakishly handsome man in the garb of at least two centuries earlier. She scooted backwards to land in the water. The shock cleared her head as she scrambled up and faced the man again.

“Who the hell are you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “And what did you do with my rope?” she demanded angrily. For the moment, she was ignoring the fade in of his appearance.

“Rope? Why what would I be doin’ wi’ your rope, darlin’? I’ve no need of a rope .. yet.”

“Yet?” Kit took a deep breath and released it in the hope of gaining some measure of calm. It worked. “Ok, who are you?”

He slipped off the chest to stand on booted feet. “Captain Jack Sparrow, at yer service,” he declared grandly, sweeping his hat off his head and bowing. As he replaced the hat, she realized the strip of red cloth confining his hair away from his face was similar to that circling the skull of the skeleton at his feet.

He followed her look down and shied slightly back from the bones. He looked up immediately, meeting her gaze, a mixture of fear and bravado in his own gaze. He came down the slope with a swaying, graceful gait that made her think he was drunk. The eyes were entirely too clear and sharp for that.

“And you would be?” he asked as he stopped about a foot away from her.

“Kitrin Elkins.”

“Kitrin.” He rolled her name around his mouth as though it were some fine brandy. “I like it. It’s a nice name. And what are ye doin’ here, lass? What brings ye to old Jack?” He leaned forward until his face was scant inches away from her own.

She backed away slightly, expecting to smell the reek of unwashed flesh and clothing. Instead, there was a slightly spicy fragrance and not even the sense of a body standing close to her. “A plane wreck.”

He pulled back. “A plane wreck,” he repeated. “And what kind of a boat be that?” He looked a bit sad over the wreck part of her answer.

“It’s not a boat.”

“But ye said ‘wreck’, love…”

“Yes. I crashed on the top of the island.”

“Ye’re not a demon, are ye?” His voice was filled with suspicion.

“No. I’m a pilot.”

“Without a boat?”

“With an airplane.”

He blinked and considered this. “What be an ‘airplane’?”

“You know what a hot air balloon is?”

He thought for a moment and nodded. He’d heard of such foolish things. “Don’t know why you’d want one of those when a good ship will take ye farther and safer.”

She chuckled. “Because when you take away the hot air and add engines and wings that work correctly, there are very few places you can’t go a lot faster than any old ship,” she informed him. Disbelief flickered through his eyes, but he apparently decided not to argue the point.

“And you’re stuck on me island.”

“Until rescue comes.”

Jack smiled at that. Rescue was unlikely and he said as much. “This is the Isle de Muerte, love. Them as hasn’t been here, can’t get here.”

“Them as hasn’t got a beacon to signal with,” she shot back. What was she doing mimicking his speech? “I have a homing beacon that signals ………. “

“Not a fire?” he said suddenly. There was a nagging worry in the back of his mind about signal fires and smoke columns towering into the air.

“No. It’s electronic.” That one went over his head, she could tell. Right. An 18th century pirate was going to understand about electronics, not. For a moment she puzzled over placing him as 18th century and as a pirate. She looked him over again. Definitely 1700s and something about his almost smarmy charm made her think pirate. “Are you a pirate?”

“Aye.”

The self-satisfied grin that went with his admission made her want to smack him for some reason. She looked around. “That explains this. Pirate treasure. Good lord, that’s a lot of treasure.”

“Ten years of pillaging and looting the Spanish Main.” There was a sad longing in his voice. “And before. There was treasure here already when they started coming.” His attention came back to her. “And just what are ye going to do with it?”

There was a subtle menace in his question. Kit drew away, frowning. “Why should I do anything with it? I don’t need it.”

That puzzled him. “Ye don’t.” He looked her over. The strange garb she wore was plain. The pants were dark blue and of a strong fabric that clung to her hips and flowed down her legs to the stranger shoes she wore. The shirt was close fit to her body. Indeed, the entire outfit was more exhibiting of her body than anything a cheap strumpet had worn in his day.

“No, I don’t.” Still, she shied away from admitting she came from a very, very rich background. There was just something about Jack Sparrow … Captain Jack Sparrow, her mind supplied …. That made her hesitant to say too much.

“Kit!!!” a familiar voice echoed thinly into the cavern.

“Mom!” Kit identified it, turned and ran sliding toward the entrance without another thought for Captain Jack Sparrow. Behind her, the jaunty figure’s shoulders slumped and he faded from sight.

 

Chapter Three

Kimberly Elkins, her curly brown hair still untouched by gray and tied up with a colorful kerchief, sat in the bow of a motorized dingy, shining the bow-mounted spotlight along the walls of the cave. Behind her, Cheri handled the small motor pushing the boat further up the waterway.

“Mom!!” The yell bounced off the walls.

“We found her,” Kim pointed out superfluously.

The woman behind her chuckled. “So it seems. Wonder if she’s been on the ship out there.”

“Hi! What took you so long?” The light shone on Kit as she stood on the gravel slope at the end of the waterway.

“Triangulation problems,” Cheri answered her as the bow came to rest on the gravel. “What have you been up to?”

Kit threw her arms around her mother first, then around her favorite “aunt”. “Oh, nothing much,” she tossed off airily. “Just finding a two centuries old pirate ship and its treasure.” Laughter got the better of her then. “Sorry. But it’s true, Aunt Cheri! That ship has apparently been out there for over two centuries. And this cavern back here is full of treasure. Gold, jewels, statues, you name it, the stuff is there. Oh, and I’m sorry, I pilfed the chest on the ship. It was cold last night and -------- I’ll tell you about it in a bit. You got any food?”

Kim and Cheri both laughed at that as the latter pulled a cooler out of the boat and handed it over.

Kit pulled it open, grabbed a bottle of water and a sandwich that she sat down and devoured immediately. Her mother and Cheri waited until she was finished before walking on into the cave. Both of them stopped at the entrance and expressed their surprise. Treasure was a small word for what they could see from the entrance.

Cheri let loose a whistle to express her feelings. “Damn. Tut’s Tomb plus.” She picked up a handful of coins from a nearby ledge. “Pieces of eight, shillings, drachma?” Her gaze swept over the piles nearby. “Aztec and Inca pieces ……… Kit, you’ve found the mother lode of pirate treasure.”

“Yeah,” Kit agreed quietly. “There’s something odd about the whole thing, though.” She quickly described the bone littered deck of the ship, yet omitting her conversation with the ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Cheri nodded. “Probably some kind of factional falling out,” she said as she took a look at the chest and attached skeleton. “This would make one hell of a display.” She indicated the chest and skeleton. “Not that I’d want to put that much gold on display at any museum I know at the moment.”

“Smithsonian?”

“They’ve got a lot of stuff. This is the kind of thing the traveling displays would love. Trouble is there’s no country laying claim to it.”

“There will be,” Kim offered.

Cheri considered this. “We’d probably better figure out who can legally lay claim to the island before we make noises about the find.”

“Consider it done.”

While Cheri and Kim discussed what to do with and about the find, Kit kept looking around the cavern waiting for the Captain to make his next appearance. When it became certain that the Captain was not going to show himself to her mother and aunt, she was faced with the dilemma of whether to tell them about her encounter with the ghost and how since she hadn’t just burbled it out in the first place. In the end, it was some time before she told her aunt about the ghost of the Isle de Muerte.

Over the next few weeks, Kimberly Elkins International, Inc. researched the ownership and nationality of the legendary Isle de Muerte. The island was found to lie in international waters, not within the boundaries of any sphere of influence in the Western Hemisphere and owing nothing to the Old World either. The corporation petitioned the United Nations for a charter to possibly develop the island for vacation trade as no one else wanted the rock that could not be easily found. The charter was granted.

Three months after the charter was granted, Kim and Cheri “found” the treasure and the ship. The media were all over the find as it arrived in New Orleans to go to the Historical Archaeology department at the University of New Orleans. The department was one of many beneficiaries of a building award from KEI, Inc. The building was completed in time to house the finds at the Isle de Muerte. News of the find also enhanced the tour properties of the island, although Kim was having second thoughts about that plan as the island was still very difficult to find even for those who had been there already.

The final items to arrive in the States were the stone chest with its cargo of Aztec gold and the skeleton found with it. Photos of the picturesque find were in national publications devoted to treasure, archaeology, history and to the strange and unusual. The ship was photographed and identified as the infamous Black Pearl. Some thought the skeleton belonged to the infamous Captain Barbosa who was rumored to have held the ship for a decade in the mid-1700s. But the few descriptions there were of the dreaded pirate captain did not fit the slight build of the skeleton they’d found.

Cheri, leading the cataloguing and investigation of the ship and the treasure, commissioned a reputable computer reconstruction firm to find a face for the skulls of the skeletons on the ship and the one in the cavern. There were other pirates recorded besides the most famous ones. She wanted to find a face to fit those skulls. An agreement was reached to send the remains to the firm for investigation. Cheri had one of her assistants carefully wrap and box up the remains for shipping.

“Dr. Yuconovich.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a problem with that last skull skeleton.”

“It didn’t break, did it?”

“No,” the assistant assured her, “No. The skull’s in good shape. You said we were just sending the skulls to Genetex. Unfortunately, we can’t get one of them loose.”

“What?”

“The skeleton that was draped over the chest, the one that held together when we moved it. Well, the skull is still firmly attached to the spinal column. I didn’t think you wanted us to break anything ………. “

Cheri nodded. “I’ll take a look. An intact skeleton is a rare find. It was also with the treasure …”

Cheri went to check out the situation. Swinging the lid of the crate open, she noted that the archaeologists crating the skeleton had managed to keep all of the rags on the body together with the ones, including the remaining hair with beads strung into it and the band of red fabric holding it to the skull. She picked up the left hand, the bones held together, the wrist as well and the arm bones followed the motion.

Turning the hand over, she looked for the attachments. Nothing. There was something odd going on here. She returned the hand to its position at the side of the skeleton and turned her attention to the skull. It was also firmly attached to the spine by whatever was holding the entire thing together. She closed the crate and went to look up the crating report. The information was sparse but intriguing. The skeleton instead of falling to pieces when moved had held together even on the island, to the point of one of the pieces of gold in the chest remaining in the clenched finger bones of the hand. Once the skeleton was secured to a board for transport, the gold piece was inventoried and returned to the chest. The skeleton remained pliable when transferred to the crate for transport.

Cheri decided to send the skulls from the ship to the firm and then ask for a recommendation for software to work on the remaining skeleton. Maybe there was a software package that could flesh out the entire body. That would definitely cut expenses if the department could do their own modeling for located skeletons. She made a mental note to look into it as she left the storeroom.

As the door closed, a figure materialized. He seemed unsteady on his feet for a moment and bemused by his surroundings. He looked down at the crate with a frown. There was something wrong here, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He could feel the pull of the gold, the Aztec gold that kept him ….. kept him what? He wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t exactly dead either. He was still between. Now, all he had to do was get his body to comply with the curse and he could probably get his life back together. It was a long shot. But what was he, if not a lucky player of long shots? He smiled a wistful yet calculating smile and faded again.

Kitrin, not an archaeologist by training, was tagging along with her aunt while the treasure was under investigation. So far, she had not seen the ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow again and was beginning to believe she had hallucinated the entire thing based on the somewhat romantic skeleton and her hunger. She resolutely ignored the fact that her mother and aunt had both suffered greater deprivation than a day’s lack of food and had not suffered hallucinations until they were in far more dire straits. Regardless of the explanation for her visitation, she was glad the Captain had not reappeared.

Kit wandered in to where the cataloguing and planning of the displays were still going on. Spotting Cheri, she joined her with a bright hello.

“Hi, brat.”

“Y’know, I be all growed up now, Auntie Cherry,” she pointed out in her best little girl’s voice.

That got a laugh. “Yes, you are. And I am well aware of it. But you’re still a brat.”

She stuck out her tongue and grinned. “So, how’s my treasure going?”

“Your treasure?”

“I found it.”

“Yes, you did. Well, most of the removable part has been removed to here. We’re making replicas to put in the cavern as part of a week’s voyage from Port Royale, around the Caribbean and back. It’ll be a Disney-esque ride showing the ship and then the cavern. We think if they can pick up the loose replicas, no one will try to pry loose the real thing from under the layer of rock.”

“Good. Sounds like things are proceeding apace.”

“They are. All but one.”

“Which one?”

“Did Kim tell you we’re getting computer generated faces for the skulls?”

“No. Like the ones they do to figure out what Jane and John Doe bodies look like?”

“Precisely. All the skulls but one are being shipped off today.”

“Why “but one”?”

“Because it’s still firmly attached, somehow, to the rest of the skeleton.”

“Oh.” She thought about it for a moment and frowned. “Oh, my. Not the one draped over the chest?”

“Exactly.” Judging by Kit’s reaction, there was something she hadn’t told them. “Think of anything that might be holding him together?”

She briefly met those improbably green eyes and looked away. “No.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Well, if he’s not still in the draped position …….. and why ‘he’?”

“Because his skeleton says he’s male.”

“Oh. All of them?”

“All of them. A proper pirate crew.”

“Somehow that doesn’t sound exactly right.” Cheri chuckled at that. “So, what’s the problem with the skeleton? Break his skull loose?”

“I don’t think so. I think there’s something odd about that one. I plan to pick up the software and see what I can do to flesh him out here.”

“Sounds good. Want some help?”

“All right. Assuming your mother doesn’t have anything she desperately needs you for.”

“Not at the moment. She’s closing a deal for a large chunk of land in Wyoming. She says she’s opening a major dude ranch, but given the blueprints I’ve seen, I think there’s something else going on.”

“That’s possible. Seen your other aunt lately?”

“Tam? No. Got a letter the other day. She’s got a third grandchild and another marriage to officiate at. She seems quite pleased. Told us to call if she was needed or to drop in if we felt like it.”

“That’s Tam. I’m for lunch. How about you?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 

Chapter Four

Cheri tested the new software on animal skulls to get a feel for the way the information was handled. She took a week of working on other objects before she opened the crate to work on the remaining skull. Under the bright lights of the laboratory, the skeleton looked more substantial, heavier than it had in the last time she looked at it. Her assistants lifted the remains onto the lab table for examination.

As she examined the bones again, there looked to be remains of ligaments attaching them together. That was not possible. She frowned at the skeleton. The gold inlaid teeth of the skull leered up at her. The hair felt thicker, more alive than when they inventoried the skeleton in the cave. There was something different here, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Or, perhaps, she didn’t want to consider the answer that occurred to her.

She took micrometer measurements across the fascia and mandibles then turned the skull slightly to take depth measurements to the back of the skull. She took a full series of photographs of the skull to scan into the program as well. Moving the skull back to rest she caught an after image of someone looking at her from the empty sockets. She shrugged it off as the tired imagination working overtime on the basis of an odd skeleton.

Cheri took her time feeding the information into the computer program, double-checking every measurement and scan to make certain they were all correct and nothing was missed. She broke for dinner and returned to the task after everyone else had gone home. The program roughed in eyes, muscles and ligaments then overlaid those with skin and finally the hair and headband.

There, staring at her from the monitor was a man from the past. She suspected the skin coloring was off; he was pale and sheltered looking rather than sun roughened and dark, as a sailor should look. She shifted the skin and eye color based on the hair. The face was surprisingly good looking to modern eyes. High cheekbones and a high forehead framed dark eyes. She wondered if he had facial hair and gave him a full beard. Somehow, that did not look right. Not that he couldn’t have worn a full beard, many men did, but she felt this face might have inspired a hint of vanity that hiding behind all that hair would not have suited. She took away the beard and left a moustache. She wondered at the hair, but given his time frame, long hair was normal, especially among those who could not afford wigs.

She saved the face to file and stretched; easing back muscles she had not realized were tense. Glancing at the clock she discovered it was two in the morning. No wonder she was tired. She ran the backup and pulled the CD for safe keeping before turning off the machine, stretching again and heading out of the building. Just as she turned out the lights in the lab, she had a feeling of being watched.

She flipped the lights back on and whirled to face an empty room. Nothing. No one was there, not even a shadow. Still watching the room, she flipped the switch off. In the sudden darkness, she knew there was someone in the room, close to her.

“Who’s there?” She had a sense of the other looking around for someone else before she heard a whisper of an answer.

“Captain .. “

She flicked the lights on. No surprises. Great. Somehow, she now had the ghost of a ghost to deal with? Too tired to work out the ramifications, she turned the lights off a final time and left.

In the storeroom, Captain Jack Sparrow sat on the lid of the crate holding his earthly remains and pondered the peculiarities of Aztec curses. Something had gone wrong somewhere. Removing the coin from the chest should have saved him. Only it hadn’t. Or he hadn’t. There was a haze around what exactly had happened to leave him disassociated from his moldering corpse in the cave on the island.

There was also something about the black haired woman that touched a chord within him. He knew her, yet he didn’t know her. Sometimes he felt her name just on the tip of his tongue, something like the time he lost the word parlay while fighting to get his ship back. Then there were times when she was a stranger with wonderful eyes and hair like silk that made his fingers ache to bury them in it. It was all very confusing. And where was the Black Pearl?

Kit, having gone to New York to visit her mother, returned to see what progress Cheri was making. She’d sat through discussions about the restoration of the Black Pearl, the ship in the cove, and been alternately fascinated and bored with the details. Now she wanted to see the faces of the ship’s crew.

She walked into the lab about noon with an offer of pizza for lunch. She arrived, pizza in hand. Her aunt was busy with something on a computer monitor. The face surprised her. “That’s him,” she said without thinking.

Cheri, hearing the startled tone wondered just where her niece might have met a dead pirate. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Kit considered lying and decided against it. Given her Aunt Cheri’s background, what was a hallucination? Or a ghost?

“Could we discuss that over pizza in your office?”

“I think we could manage that.”

Eating took precedence for a few minutes while Kit tried to find a way to explain her hallucination as a perfectly normal experience given the situation. The only problem was she didn’t feel that it was as much a hallucination as she had.

“You’ve seen our pirate before?”

“Yeah. Uh … well .. I thought I was imagining things. I saw him on the island. He was sitting on the chest ……. Well, the edge of it anyway. And that was what he looked like.”

“Say anything?”

“Lots. I think. Lemme think for a minute.” What had he said exactly? She closed her eyes and thought back. “He said he didn’t have any need for my rope, yet.” She opened her eyes. “Come to think of it, I never did figure out who took my rope.”

“I think that may have been me. You know, waste not, want not.” She smiled. “Go on.”

“He said he was Captain Jack Sparrow. That he was a pirate. He wanted to know what I was going to do with the treasure and didn’t seem to believe me when I said I didn’t need it. Then you and mom turned up and he --- wasn’t there when you went into the cavern. I figured I’d hallucinated him. Given what the program is showing, maybe I didn’t?”

“Shy?”

“Didn’t seem very shy when he was talking to me. Although he wasn’t too happy with the skeleton, I think.”

“Given his time period, he’s probably very superstitious. As far as I’m aware, no one else has seen him.”

“Given his time period, he was a very sexy man.”

Cheri chuckled. “He’s striking looking. No scars?”

“Not that I recall. No sign of things like acne or the pox or anything else. Very graceful in an odd way.”

“Odd? How so?”

“Sort of – swaying. Not quite drunk, but not the usual stride?”

“Sailor’s walk.”

“What?”

“Sailor’s walk. They adapt to the swaying of the deck the way a cowboy adapts to the walk of his horse after long periods on board. The walk is distinctive for pre-engine era sailors.”

“Hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, that could explain it. Colorful, too.”

“Beads in the hair, red headband …….”

“Yeah. Sash of some kind seemed like it was colorful as well.”

“Sounds quite period. Men were not confined to the sober colors we’re used to seeing them in. Quite peacocks, really, if they had the money. Otherwise we’re talking drab and homespun.”

Kit chuckled. “I suspect this Captain would have been colorful regardless.”

Cheri regarded the face on the computer fondly. “Glad to know the program is working well and the coloring is right.”

“No one else has seen him?”

“No.”

“Maybe we’ve laid the ghost by taking the treasure?”

“Could be. Maybe he’s just waiting for the opportune moment to reappear.”

‘And maybe he’s just awaiting the opportune moment to get back to his ship,’ the listening shade of the pirate captain thought. He was uncertain how he had arrived in this place, did not care for the only answer he’d thought out and was waiting for more information. He passed his hand through a wall and pulled it back. There might be some positive things about being a ghost, but most of them seemed to be negative and he was ready to be undead for as long as it took to get back to himself and out from under the curse. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much hurry on the part of the universe to allow him to get back to where he belonged. He missed his ship.

Cheri saved the stone chest and its contents for the last inventory. The chest was plain; the sides were smooth and solid. The walls were cool to the touch. There was a frisson of visceral recognition of the chest and its contents that she did not understand. She made a careful count of all 882 pieces, noting that the pieces were identical, and put them back into the chest.

This item was causing headaches. The Mexican government was making noises about the treasure belonging to Mexico, the chest and contents having been looted by the conquistadors in the 1500’s. Kim was arguing that the chest and coins were linked to a legendary tribute paid to the conquistador Cortez and his men. Thus the coins and chest were not loot, but a gift to the Spaniard. As such, the Spanish might lay claim to the gold, but not the country of Mexico.

The Spanish government agreed with Kim’s argument and laid their own claim in international courts. Kim pointed out that while the gift had gone to Cortez, it was not a gift to the Crown or to the country, but to the conquistador and his men in an attempt to buy him off. As Cortez had no recorded descendents, it was difficult to see that the country deserved to benefit by the conquistador’s good fortune.

Kimberly hid a yawn before responding to further inquiries. “Gentlemen. Ladies. This is a treasure the world should share. There are artifacts from multiple civilizations in the treasure we have found. The Aztec chest and its contents are not just something given to Cortez to stop his bloodthirsty rampage across Mesoamerica. There is more history attached to those coins than that. There are the legends of Captain Barbosa and Captain Sparrow of the Black Pearl. There are the stories of William Turner and his family. As such, I believe the chest and the coins should be on display, along with all the information on the pirates and the Turner family, as well as information on Cortez and the Aztec empire. I have proposed a traveling display as well as a permanent one to be housed on the Isle de Muerte itself.”

“And how is this to be secured?”

“As some of you are aware, I am both a reasonable security expert in my own right and have access to other experts of several nationalities and political backgrounds. KEI, Inc. is quite capable of providing both security and defense against … well, piracy,” she ended with a smile.

After further discussion, Kim finally got her way. She now had a museum quality traveling display to put together, and a tourist attraction. She hoped Cheri was almost through with getting things catalogued and set up for display.

 

Chapter Five

Cheri was becoming oddly obsessed with the Aztec coins and the skeleton found draped across the chest. At odd moments, she caught herself toying with one of the heavy gold coins and wondering what had caused the crew to fall on itself. If that was what had happened to them; a falling out among thieves, so to speak. Something divisive had to have occurred, something that left the victors, if any, incapable of taking the ship back out of the anchorage. Assuming there were survivors.

Pocketing the coin, Cheri started a thorough investigation of the skeletons off the ship. She left the one from the cavern until last. There was something disquieting about that one and she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to deal with it at all.

Kim and kit arrived in New Orleans to find plans for the exhibits almost completed. Cheri’s staff was proud of itself, even with the lead archaeologist engaged in peripheral research; they were on track and would be able to accommodate any changes Kim made.

“Peripheral?” Kim asked.

“Dr. Yuconovich is doing a full forensic investigation of the remains of the crew. Depending on what you want, we could drape accurate representations of the bodies around the exhibit.”

“We may even be able to identify more of the crew, if that’s needed,” another voice added.

Kit giggled. She met her mom’s reproving look with a shrug of her shoulders. “Sounds just like Aunt Cheri?” she offered.

“Go check on her.”

“Done.”

Kit located Cheri in one of the labs, pirate bones spread out on several work tables around her. That and the older woman’s intent stare at changing images on her monitor, were not what caused Kit concern. Cheri’s already slender build looked gaunt. Dark circles accentuated the slightly sunken look of her eyes. The long, slender fingers moved restlessly, one hand constantly working over the surface of something that gleamed golden in the harsh light of the lab overheads. Kit moved into the lab and said hello. Cheri started, turning swiftly to face her niece. She relaxed slightly at the familiar face.

Kit tried not to let her shock at the changes in her aunt to show in her face. “Locked in on research?” she asked lightly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in New York with Kim?”

“Been there, done that. We’re here now.”

“That was quick.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“Has it?” There was an oddly unfocused look to the normal sharp green eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

“So I hear. Any ghostly intrusions?”

The look sharpened. “Oh, your ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow. No. At least,” the gaze unfocused again. “I don’t think so.”

Kit noticed the glimmering gold in Cheri’s hand was one of the Aztec coins. “Aren’t those all supposed to be locked up?”

“Hmm?” Cheri looked down, stilling the continuous fondling of the coin. “Oh. This? Yeah. I wanted to make sure the duplicates were right.”

“Like anyone is gonna notice if they’re off slightly.”

“You’d be surprised,” Cheri said softly. “There are a lot of amateur archaeologists out there, and arm chair historians, who will take us to task if things aren’t authentic when they take the ride.” What she didn’t say was that she did not recall pulling one of the coins lately. She hefted it as she spoke. Gold. When the hell had she removed it from the chest?

“Hungry?” Kit changed the subject suddenly.

“Famished.” Cheri looked surprised to find she was that hungry. “Must’ve skipped a meal.”

“Or two.”

Cheri deliberately locked the coin in a drawer before joining her niece for lunch. From the shadow of the file cabinet, Jack watched the two women leave. There was something even stranger here than his tie to his bones and the peculiar turn the curse of the Aztec gold had taken with him. The black haired woman was cursed. She had to be. She had removed all the gold from the chest and returned it, without the shedding of blood to break the curse. From what he’d seen and heard, none of these people knew the gold was cursed, so there was no way around her having been touched by it.

Yet he’d seen her in the moonlight streaming through the windows of the building as she left late in the night and there was nothing of the undead look to her. Nothing except the physical changes her niece had noticed. There was something very wrong about the way the curse was affecting the woman.

Jack grinned mirthlessly. As though there was anything right about the way the curse had dealt with him this time. Bad enough to be a ghost, but his ties to his mortal remains seemed to be getting stronger. This limited the range of his wanderings. He laid a hand on the crate and nearly cried out as it sank through the lid, pulled by some force inside. He struggled to free himself from that pull. Whatever it was drawing him to his bones was stronger than his ghostly strength. Jack was sucked into the black interior of the crate, locked into the darkness of the coffin-sized box. In spite of all his experiences, he yelled in panic, fighting to get out, to break free.

His struggles were futile. What had drawn him into the crate now held him fast, immobile and silent as the grave. He fought down his rising terror and tried to think this through. His bones were in the crate. Now he was in the crate. Of course, that was it. The curse was pulling him back to his bones, to his body. He shuddered at the confines of the crate once and let go of his fears. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

On the steps outside the building, Cheri stumbled and almost fell. She had a feeling of being wrenched apart and a strangely déjà vu vision of water and sails. She shook her head to clear it as she regained her balance. For just a moment, she could sense the steady roll of a deck under her feet and smell a strong tang of salt in the air. Then she was solidly back on concrete looking out toward the lake less than half a mile away. No wonder she smelled salt, Lake Ponchatrain was a mildly brackish lake with ties to the Gulf.

Fatigue rolled over her like waves crashing on a seawall.

“Cheri ..” Two voices with concern at their core broke through the incredible need for sleep.

“I’m OK. Honest. Just tired. You two go eat. I’m gonna go catch some z’s.” She walked away before either Kit or Kim could voice their concern.

“Do we let her go?”

“She’s been worse and managed. I think she’d get mad if we interfered right now. We’ll make sure she gets to her flat and then go eat. We can always pick her up something when we get through.”

Cheri wove her motorcycle through traffic with a sure hand. Half conscious, she was still as attuned to the gleaming Harley as though it was a part of her. She rolled into the garage of her place, shut the cycle down, closed the garage door and stumbled into the house, barely closing the door behind her. Sleep or a form of unconsciousness crashed down on her as she collapsed on the couch. The bedroom was not an option for the time being.

Fractured glimpses of battles and raging bloodletting filtered through the sleeping woman’s brain. Conquistadors, proud and cruel, marched through ranks of equally proud dusky copper skinned warriors. The smell of sulphur surrounded the fighting as muskets alternately terrified and angered the opponents of the Spaniards.

Cannon fire surrounded her, the smell of blood and salt water mingled on the deck of a sinking ship. A ragtag crew of pirates smashed the crate holding the stone chest given Cortez. Gold. The lust for blood and booty was on this unwashed rabble. They took the chest along with anything else and headed for their own ship. Tattered sails, holed by cannon fire, filled with wind and ship moved away as the Spaniard’s powder magazine exploded in a dirty fireball behind them. The cries and groans of dying men filled her ears as the ship sank.

Cool water splashed around her ankles as she strode into a cavern. Smoking torches gave it a murky twilit look. On a lone pedestal of stone the crew stashed the stone chest and its contents. A defrocked priest blessed the cavern and the men. “Touch it not,” he told them. “All the gold from the Spanish is yours. Spend it as you wish. But leave the chest. God says it is evil and not of this world. Leave the chest.”

So the chest was left to sit in darkness infrequently broken by sunlight or moonlight. Crews came and went, leaving treasure and taking it away again, until Captain Barbosa and the crew of the Black Pearl arrived. Somehow Cheri knew the man in the feather plumed hat was Barbosa. His face was scarred with the pox, or perhaps youthful acne had left him looking like someone hacked his face with an ice pick. He was quick and jeering as they searched through the remains of previous crews, until they came to the chest. He knocked aside the lid and drove both hands into the treasure inside. Coming up with his hands full, he tossed the ornate gold medallions to his men as the crewes of Mardi Gras tossed their doubloons to the screaming crowds.

Cheri awoke, gasping for air, feeling as though she was drowning in something viscous. She stared wildly about the dark living room, flailing and falling off the couch, cracking the side of her head on the coffee table. She lay on the soft carpet for a moment, rubbing the soon to be bruise on her head and laughed. The laughter took on a hysterical tinge before she could calm down. Goddess, what was happening to her?

With sudden worry, she plunged her hand into the pocket of her jeans. It was there, heavy and golden and grinning at her with an age old malevolence. She swore she put the thing in the drawer at work. Kit watched her do so. Yet here it was, the skull laughing at her. But why? What was the secret of the Aztec gold in that chest?

If her dreams were true, Barbosa and his crew scattered the coins, spent them. How did they get back in the chest? And how was the skeleton they found draped over the chest connected with all of this? She took several deep breaths to clear her head, got up and headed into the kitchen. She was hungry. Unfortunately, in the fashion of refrigerators of work obsessed single persons, the contents left a lot to be desired. With a sigh, Cheri disposed of several interestingly green and black and fuzzy biology experiments in mold cultures. An unpromising collection of wilted lettuce, limp carrots and long beyond its expiration date sour cream joined the experiments in the trash. That left a box of baking soda and half a can of cat food. The freezer held ice: bagged ice, cube maker ice and a thick layer of freezer grown ice that made extracting either of the other two kinds of ice impossible.

Cheri retreated to her cabinets. Four zillion varieties of herbal and regular tea, two bottles of ketchup, four cans of yams, half a dozen cans of succotash and cat food greeted her search. “Must’ve been eating out a lot lately,” she muttered with a laugh. It looked like tonight would be another eat out one.

Something solid hit the kitchen door screen and stuck, yowling. Calming her racing heartbeat, Cheri opened the back door and was deafened by the complaints of a large, very stout, very annoyed, house cat. “Roddy.”

“Mrwow!”

“Hungry?”

A yowl greeted that word. Hungry? Woman, I am starving to death before your very eyes, he seemed to be telling her at the top of his lungs. That and a plea for the idiot human he loved, against all intelligent thought, to please remove him from the impediment to entrance to the house because, once again, his claws were stuck. Cheri opened the screen door and lifted the twenty pound cat off the screen. His response was to yowl and purr at motor boat engine proportions, alternately until she set him on the floor and fed him. Then he made the interesting choking, warbling sound he always made when eating. Cheri reminded him that talking with his mouth full was rude. It didn’t penetrate this time either.

Once the cat had made a thorough circuit of the house and settled in for his after dinner wash and snooze, Cheri left to find food for herself. Roddy watched his human leave, padded over to the half open window she left for his comfortable exit and entrance, and climbed onto the reinforced window ledge. Stupid human. She’d only just returned and here she was leaving again, he grumbled to himself. He flopped down on the ledge disconsolately. He was lonely without his human. He yawned, showing entirely too many teeth, and settled in for a patient siesta.

Kim and Kit arrived half an hour later to find the house dark, the huge thing Cheri called her cat snoozing on his window ledge and no Cheri. Luckily, Kit had a spare key to the house and let them in. They restocked Cheri’s refrigerator with edible items, made tea and sat down to wait for Cheri’s return. Several hours later, they abruptly awoke from the naps they were taking to realize that Cheri had yet to return and it was after midnight.

 

Chapter Six

Jack lay in the utter darkness of his captivity for what seemed like eternity. Then the lid of the crate slammed back and he was blinking against the bright lights of the storage room. Hands grabbed his lapels and hoisted him out of the crate. He managed to gain his balance as he stumbled over the side wall, flailing his arms wildly. Dark eyes met green glittering with anger. For just a moment, very real death danced in that gaze. Then Cheri’s jaw dropped slightly and she released him. What the hell?

The question was uppermost in Jack’s mind as well, but he was concealing it well as he took in the lab. There was a very great difference from drifting around and through things in the dark to the array of items that showed in the light. The very bright light.

Cheri frowned at Jack. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” came the automatic response.

She could see the gleaming gold in his mouth, the same as the teeth on the skull that wouldn’t detach. She could smell him. To a modern nose, he stank. She backed up a step and took a breath. “OK. I’ll ask. What the hell is going on? Why do I keep getting this odd sensation of being in two places at once?”

“That would be the curse, love.” Although a part of him disagreed with his own words. The curse made one immortal, in a somewhat uncomfortable manner.

”Curse? What Curse? And how are you solidly here when Kit said you were a ghost?”

His mouth worked for a moment before he gave up and shrugged his shoulders. “Why do I keep thinking I know ye from somewhere, darlin’? It happens.” He looked around again, hoping he’d spot something familiar. Everything was still vaguely alien.

“It happens,” she repeated. “It happens .. “ She stepped back up to him, took his face in both hands and kissed him. It was the sort of thorough kiss that stirred memories and other things. She let him go with a sigh. That was not a mouth she’d kissed before. Was he blushing under the sailor’s tan?

He grinned at her then, a cocky, cheeky sort of grin that was both ego and hopeful at the same time. Jack knew that kiss. He wasn’t certain how, or even when, but it was the most welcomingly familiar thing he’d yet experienced in this new world. Cheri knew that look, even if neither of them could pin down the memory.

“Are you hungry?” she blurted out. Too much odd input over too short a period was shorting out her normally very suspicious nature.

“Famished.”

“Let’s get something to eat.”

Ignoring the sort of attention they were bound to draw with a pirate out of the mid 1700’s at her side, Cheri neatly locked up the lab and led the way to her transport. A part of her mind considered just exactly what she would say to explain the missing skeleton to her staff. Kim and Kit would get the real explanation. They knew her and her secrets.

Jack was alternately fascinated and repulsed by the motorcycle. Horses were not his favorite mode of travel and the amount of noise this metal beast made was foreign to him. It took several minutes for Cheri to convince him that the thing would not explode under him or otherwise damage him if he boarded it. She even took it on a short, slow cruise around the parking lot solo so that he could see it in action. With a fatalistic gesture, Jack threw a leg over the rear seat, wrapped his arms around her waist and ducked his head behind her shoulder as she bid. The roar was unnerving, but the wind rushing past was reassuring. The wind had never done him wrong, only led him on his path. After a few moments, he chanced a peek over her shoulder at the rushing lights. Nope, not what he wanted to see. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the seat and the body in front of him.

After a short eternity that was about twenty minutes, the roar, the movement and the vibration stopped. “We’re here,” Cheri half shouted in his wind deafened hears. He slowly loosened his death grip on her waist and sat up. The motorcycle was parked across a short expanse of concrete separating a tall fence of iron posts from the street. Beyond the fence was green. Ancient trees, manicured grass and the scent of flowers in bloom. There was another scent of cooking meat.

There was a strange cart parked just outside the open gate. Cheri dismounted, walked over and spoke to the vender. Jack slid off the seat and joined her as the dark skinned attendant handed her two foot long hotdogs loaded with chili, onions, relish and mustard. Cheri handed one to Jack, linked arms with him and walked into Jackson Square. Silence reigned as they found a bench and ate. After a couple of hundred years of being dead, Jack thought the taste was intriguing. Cheri, on the other hand, commented that she wasn’t as happy with the taste as usual.

“The curse.”

“Right. Explain.”

Jack explained the Aztec curse. “Immortality at the price of everything that makes life worth living.”

Cheri digested this with a frown. “Only something went wrong when you went for it.”

Jack looked distinctly uncomfortable before he nodded. “I was dying,” he managed to get out. Jack knew pain, but the agony of that moment was coming back to him. Barbosa. No. Not Barbosa. He and Turner had put a true end to pirate for kidnapping Liz and little Will. But someone in the crew had turned on him. Someone whose loyalties, if any, lay elsewhere.

“So, the curse is cued when the gold is physically removed from the chest. And, since I was the one who handled the inventory of the coins, I’m the only one cursed ... besides you.”

“Right.”

“So, how do you break the curse?”

“Blood.”

“How much and whose?”

“Yours. Not a lot. A slash of the hand will do.”

“Bloody the coin, drop it into the chest with the rest and voila, broken curse?”

He nodded. “Basically.”

Cheri stood, stretched and gave him an old fashioned look. “Basically,” she prompted.

He gave her his best, engaging smile. It didn’t work. “Yours and mine might be ..”

“Intertwined. So my blood may not be enough. Might need a bit of yours as well.”

That netted a short, “I really don’t want to agree with you, but you’re right” sort of nod. The moon floated out of the clouds. Cheri took in the full glory of the curse in action.

“Interesting.” Jack sans his normal mortal look was a classic undead, decaying flesh and bone, clothes tattered and torn. Still, there was a definite feeling of personality about the look.

Jack, in his turn, frowned. Cheri was not a skeletal undead, although her skin seemed far tighter across her bones, her eyes sunken in, her mouth a thin, humorless line. It struck him as odd and he said so.

Cheri sighed audibly, leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “I’m already immortal.”

“That would explain it.”

Cheri almost laughed at his immediate acceptance of her status. There was a lot to be said for 18th century thought processes. To a man suffering a curse that made him essentially a walking dead man, there was nothing odd about someone claiming to be immortal in their own right.

“All right. First thing in the morning, I think it would be a good idea to see if I can be un-cursed.” She yawned. “Doesn’t seem to affect my need for sleep. I’m going home – oh, ok, actually I suppose that’s a case of we’re going to my home.”

Jack grinned and gave her a bow. The trip to her house was not as unnerving as the first one was. He was beginning to like this thundering beast between his legs. And hers, of course. That sent his mind chasing thoughts he wasn’t certain were quite politic.

Her house was small for a rich man, but roomy and comfortably furnished. The overstuffed couch attracted him with its rich, soft fabric and firm stuffing. He threw himself down on it. It was more comfortable than most of the beds he’d slept in over the years. He found that he was tired as well, pushed his hat down over his eyes and settled in for a nap.

Cheri left the Captain sleeping on her couch and retired for the night. Her rest was not refreshing. Her dreams took her from ship to battle and back. Always, there was an elusive presence in the dreams, one she chased but could not catch. She awoke to the dawn with bird song full throated outside her open window. She had a momentary consideration of exploding puff balls of feathers to silence the little annoyances. Calmer thoughts reigned and she did not reach for her favorite .45 magnum to make the thought a reality.

Jack awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs and toast. He followed his nose into the kitchen. He thought it might be a kitchen as there were pots and pans and cupboards and Cheri seemed to be cooking. “Food?” he asked hopefully.

“Here.” Cheri set a plate on the island counter for him.

He inhaled deeply over it. Oh, yes. Food and lots of it. He pulled up a stool and dug in. It wasn’t quite as good as he’d hoped, but it was filling. The ale he washed it down with was a pale, almost tasteless brew. He suspected that it wasn’t just the curse that made it taste so. He became aware of Cheri watching him thoughtfully as she ate.

“What?”

“You’re a definite fish out of water, Captain.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You are a man over two hundred years out of time, Captain. Now that you’re here, what are you planning on doing?”

“Doing? I’m a pirate.”

“Not a good living these days. And a lot nastier than you seem to be.”

“I’m a pirate, love. It’s what I do, it’s who I am.”

“Why?”

“Because – I’m greedy.”

“Kim has more money than any dozen people can spend in a decade or more. You don’t need to find your own. Besides, the likelihood of you being able to commit piracy on the high seas today is pretty slim. You really don’t know enough about this time to survive.”

Jack tried to keep his ready understanding of the situation out of his face. He concentrated on his food and thought furiously. The wench was right about one thing, this time and place was foreign to him, more foreign than the Chinese of Singapore or the Japanese fishing villages he’d occasionally set foot in while he was scouring the Orient for a way to get back to the Caribbean and his ship. “You don’t think piracy’s a good idea?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t think you’re the sort of man who could steal everything a bunch of Asian refugees had and then scuttle the ship.”

“Why not?” Not that scuttling a ship sat well with him, any more than senseless killing did. But it was what pirates did.

“Because …. I don’t know. There’s just something about you that doesn’t mesh with the pirate legends. Captain Barbosa could sink a ship with survivors on it and think himself well rid of the witnesses. I don’t think you’d do the same thing.”

“Barbosa saw a lot of things differently,” Jack said quietly. “He was a rough man, a thorough one. He wasn’t a bad captain, just .. I objected to him stealing my ship.” The comment sounded lame in his ears. But what else could he say? Under Barbosa the Black Pearl was the most feared pirate ship in the Caribbean. Under Jack’s command, well, it was the richest prize in the Caribbean, had anyone know what she transported, but not the most feared. Even Commodore Norrington had let the Black Pearl come and go without too much chase being given.

“Not much point in looting when you have the accumulated loot of ten years --------- whoa … “ she put a hand out to steady herself, her eyes becoming oddly unfocused. “That was odd.”

He cocked his head to one side and waited, curious to know what had happened.

“Double vision, as in two places at once … not fun. I think we’d best go see about breaking this curse.”

This time they took Cheri’s car. Another new experience for Jack who again firmly closed his eyes and let his companion take them where they were going. He was helping Cheri out of the car as Kim and Kit were arrived. Jack was beginning to worry about Cheri’s reaction to the curse. It was unnatural. The thought made him grin even as he slid a supporting arm around the woman. What wasn’t unnatural about a curse?

Kit demanded to know what Jack had done, even as she and Kim shepherded the two of them up the steps and into the building. That got an old fashioned look from both Jack and Cheri.

“Back off!” Cheri snapped, the strange disorientation was getting worse and she wanted to get the cure over with. “The gold is cursed. Not Jack’s fault.”

There was a snort from Kim. “Great. You would manage to find the one cursed item in the haul, wouldn’t you?”

Kit led the way to the storeroom. Jack kept a helpful hand around Cheri’s waist as he shoved the lid off the crate and then stepped back to let Cheri break the curse. He was nervous and trying not to let it show. If the disorientation problem didn’t abate, he would have to add his blood to the breaking and he wasn’t certain he wanted to find out what happened when he did so.

“You remove the gold from the chest to get caught. To remove the curse, you have to bloody a coin and drop it into the chest. Simple enough. Somebody find me a knife?”

Jack frowned. The obsidian knife he remembered was no longer in the chest. That bothered him. A lot of things were bothering him. He lowered Cheri into a chair next to the chest, dug in one of his capacious pockets and produced a dagger. As he handed it to Cheri, Kit thought she caught a glimpse of a caring human being beneath the swaggering façade. Then he was all pirate bravado again as he stepped back and waited for the answer to his question.

Kit reached over and poked him in the arm. “When did you get so solid?”

“Don’t poke so hard.”

“Sorry.”

Cheri fished the coin out of her pocket, frowning at the saw toothed skull that leered up at her from the gleaming, intricately cast surface. She cut her hand, covered the coin in blood and was dropping it into the chest when the door opened again.

Kit and Kim both moved to stop the man entering the room as the coin dropped. Cheri caught a fleeting glimpse of a fair skinned face framed by longish dark hair that echoed that of the pirate at her side.

The coin hit its fellows. The world tilted, skewed and darkness took her down, leaving her companions to stare at her in dismay. Jack kept her from sliding bonelessly to the ground. The shock on his face kept the other two women at bay.

They rounded on the intruder who was surveying the scene, one elegant eyebrow raised. He was immaculately, properly suited, his left hand resting on the ornate silver head of a cane. In his right hand was a folded document bound in legally blue looking paper.

He snorted lightly. “Precisely the sort of thing I suspected.” He gave Jack a look of loathing. “I’m looking for Ms. Kimberly Elkins.”

“You found me.” Kim was still looking belligerent.

“Here. A cease and desist order.”

Kim scanned the document and laughed as she handed it to her daughter. She looked the man up and down measuringly, noting the slight blush this engendered.

“You have the advantage of me, Mr. ?”

“Sparrow. John Edison Sparrow. And would you please get that man out of his costume? There will be no homage to that cur, Jack Sparrow.”

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” came the automatic response.

John let loose a bark of harsh laughter. “Self proclaimed.”

Jack’s face hardened. “Earned, Puppy!” he spat back. “The Black Pearl is mine.” There was something about the quiet menace in Jack’s voice that caught John’s attention. For just a moment, as two sets of nearly black eyes met. There was an incredible amount of tension in the room.

 

Chapter Seven

“You again.” Jack Sparrow did not sound happy to see the man he greeted with these words. He was just sitting down to a well earned cup of rum and bowl of indeterminate stew in a tavern in Tortugas.

The man was tall, leanly handsome and wore a faint smile around his mouth. A number of the ladies, to give them the benefit of the doubt, were eyeing the man, but not with the distrust of the Captain. His clothing was of good quality, not the general run of seen better days pieced together castoffs generally worn in the area. The ladies could always sniff out a full wallet.

“Me. Again. Mind if I join you?”

“Will it do any good?”

He considered and shook his head, straight black hair falling down over one eye as he did so. “No.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I have a proposition for a man of daring and imagination.”

“Ah. Go look somewhere else. I’m busy.” Jack applied himself to his food and drink, hoping that Green would take the hint. It wasn’t working. “I said …”

“I heard. I think you’ll find this of interest, however.” Green leaned forward and unfurled a parchment map on the table between them.

Jack knew he was sucked in as soon as he saw the “X” scrawled on the paper. He tried to play it off the cuff while squinting at the map. “It’s a map, mate. I have a number of those. What makes this one of interest?”

“Probably that big black “X” that caught your attention. This is a map to a pirate treasure.”

“I have one of those. Have the treasure, too.”

“You don’t have this one.”

“What do I need with a second one? It’s not cursed, is it?”

“Now that is a good question.”

Any other pirate captain, any other pirate, would have shown the good sense to turn tail and run at the hint of a cursed treasure. Jack Sparrow, having survived one curse and being the owner, if not user, of said cursed treasure, had developed something of a fascination for curses. The obsession with treasure had existed before the fascination with curses.

“And just what do you want with me?”

“Well, my ship is now under the command of Captain Anna Maria. You have the beginnings of a fleet. I don’t have the funds to purchase a ship, but I can certainly share the treasure, if it’s there.”

“Right. We toddle along, find the treasure, remove the curse, if any and you profit … I don’t see the draw.”

“I profit, because I have the map. You profit because your share of the treasure, sans curse, is the larger because you contribute more to the finding of it. Besides, do you really want Ramirez to find it first?”

The question galvanized Jack, although he sat on the reaction to the best of his ability. Angel Ramirez was the worst of the worst, barring the infamous and now dead Captain Barbosa. Jack and Ramirez had tangled a few times in Tortugas. “Ramirez. How does Ramirez know where to look?”

“There’s another map. Unfortunately, the gentleman who gave me this one, made two. One for himself, one for his captain. This was left to me. Ramirez killed the owner of the other.”

“Sounds like Ramirez. How far ahead of you is he?”

“He’s not.”

“Green, I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Don’t play games.”

“I’m not. Ramirez took and sank the ship. He grabbed up the logs and a handful of maps. As yet, he doesn’t know what he has. But he has a man on board who is looking at the maps for him.”

“Ah. Which puts us ahead of him. For the time being.” He looked at the map. “Mexico. That’s a large bit of land to search.”

“This bit isn’t as big. They call it the Yucatan Peninsula. Lots of hostile Indians, but not much else.”

“Right. Snakes that eat mules. Poisonous insects. Monkeys.” He shuddered. “Been there mate. Not interested in going back.”

“Not even for a treasure of mythic proportions?”

Jack considered this, his eyes taking on a dreamy cast. A treasure of mythic proportions. Then he laughed. “And just what is the one I already have if not mythic?” he asked.

Green blinked at him. “All right, how about two mythic treasures? You’ll be a legend.”

Jack laughed. “I am a legend, mate.”

“Please.”

Jack finished his meal and had two more mugs of rum before he finally put Oliver out of his suspense. “Two-thirds.”

“Done.”

 

Chapter 8

Cheri’s nose twitched as she slowly regained consciousness. Someone was snoring. There was the earthy smell of a human body of the not frequently washed kind. A male voice muttered something indistinct. Her eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright, ricocheting her head off the cabin wall as she did so.

The flurry of movement and sound sent the man beside her off the bed onto the floor, scrabbling for a weapon, his sleep and rum fuddled brain groping for consciousness and clarity. A choke of distinctly female laughter stopped his wild movement. He turned to meet a pair of disconcertingly green eyes gazing at him.

By this time, Cheri had grabbed up the bed sheet to present a not quite so naked front. She rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head and waited.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack demanded.

While the question did not bode well for a beginning on this relationship, the answer hovered on the tip of her tongue. Unfortunately, it disdained to fall off and out of her mouth. She closed her mouth after a moment of struggling silence and settled for a shrug of her shoulders indicating she couldn’t remember that piece of information at the moment.

With a sinking feeling, he asked how she got there. As he expected, this was equally unanswerable. Not that he was averse to having a woman in his bed, he just generally liked to have some clue how she got there. Especially when the bed was several days out to sea and headed for high adventure.

There was a knock at his cabin door, followed closely by a voice. “Jack. You awake yet?” Jack looked uncertainly from the woman to the door and back. Was he awake? “Confound you, you pirate, wake up!”

“I’m up, I’m up,” came the answer. Jack’s mouth seemed to have fallen into autopilot mode.

The door opened, admitting the tall, lean form of Oliver Green. Gone was the richly brocaded coat and vest of his usual raiment. Both were replaced by serviceable homespun and leather. He looked almost as rakishly attractive as Jack as he stopped to inspect the scene before him. He closed the door behind him and frowned. While Jack and a woman was not an unlooked for combination, Oliver did not recall having seen the black haired wench before this. The Black Pearl was small enough; he thought he’d have noticed such a striking woman, even disguised. Green eyes of that exact depth of color were not the norm.

Jack was looking from the woman in his bed to his partner and back in a manner calculated to cause comment. Eventually his brain would get around to making that comment. He grabbed his boots and pulled them on before getting to his feet and dragging on the rest of the clothes he had not slept in. Feeling much better put together, except for the marvelous pounding hangover headache that was not helped by the mystery of the woman in his bed, he sat down and waited for further developments.

Cheri broke the silence. “Ok, we’ve established that I’m on the clueless side as to name and method of arrival, don’t tell me both of you have amnesia as well as bad manners …?”

“Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow,” Jack responded automatically.

“Captain,” she acknowledged him with a friendly nod, then turned that unnerving gaze on Oliver. “And you are?”

“Oliver Green,” he drawled. He was not surprised when something of recognition flickered through her eyes and faded. He thought she was annoyed at the loss of something she’d almost recognized.

“Oliver Green,” she repeated, locking the name in her memory.

Jack was looking from one to the other with a frown. “You wouldn’t know who she is?”

The question startled Oliver. “Why would I know?”

In answer, Jack jerked his head to indicate the lady.

Oliver looked her over and realized that there was a strong resemblance in their coloring. “I have no living relatives,” he answered. “Certainly, I would remember one as lovely as this lady.”

He was lying. Cheri knew this as certainly as she knew her own name. Which, at the moment, she didn’t. “No son to carry on the line?” she asked dryly. Yep, there was the flicker she knew so well. Green was hiding something.

“Not yet.”

“Well, you’re young. There’s time. Even a pirate can find a lady willing to take him on, I suspect.”

“And what makes ye think we be pirates, lass?” Jack asked, suddenly alert.

She turned the full power of her most innocent look upon him. “Captain Jack Sparrow,” she shot back with a grin. “Not military, no uniform. Not merchant, not ostentatious enough. Pirate. I dunno it just seems to fit, somehow.”

“How did you get here?”

For just a moment, a vision of a gleaming golden skull danced in her head. Then it was gone, leaving behind no answers. She shrugged her shoulders again. “I woke up here. Startled me no end. Usually I remember going to bed with the person I wake up with … That didn’t sound exactly right,” she added with a laugh.

She focused on Jack. “Wait a minute, you’re asking me how I got here? You don’t remember either?” The answer was on his face. “Fascinating. Can’t imagine both of us being ... We’re moving.” It suddenly dawned on her the minute movements her body had recognized were not those of a stationary room.

Neither man recalled having seen a woman move exactly that way as Cheri extricated herself from the bed, neatly twisting the sheet around her toga style as she went to the windows at the stern of the ship. Throwing one further open, she looked out at the sea. From the look of the wake, they were moving at a fair speed. The day was calm enough; she hadn’t immediately realized she was on a ship. There was no thrum of engines in the wood beneath her feet.

“We’re at sea.”

“Aye.”

She collapsed, seated, onto the floor. Both men started forward. The blank, bewildered look on her face pulled them. They exchanged a look of decision and understanding. Cheri might be trouble, but, for the moment, they would treat her with kindness.

“How the hell did I get here?” Cheri echoed Jack’s earlier question.

“Don’t be troubling yourself about that now. Ye be here. We’ll puzzle out the manner of it in time.”

Jack offered her his hand. She took it and got back to her feet, the sheet slipping a bit as she did. “Thanks. Uhm, does someone have some spare clothes I could borrow? Sheets are a bit unreliable.” She tugged the one she was wearing into a slightly less revealing configuration.

“We’ll find something.”

“And food. I’m famished.”

Back in the lab, there was much confusion. Cheri was unconscious, barely breathing, not a situation Kim had often encountered with her friend. The eerily identical looking men stood back and gave Kim and Kit room to check on Cheri.

“Mom, she’s stopped breathing.”

“What?”

“Breathing. Stopped. I’ll CPR, you call medical.”

To Jack’s eyes, Kit’s actions were strange. John found them reassuringly normal for someone who had just quit breathing for no apparent reason. He found a chair and sat down, easing the stiffness in his leg. Whatever was going on, his accusation of “dramatics” seemed unjustified. The two women were obviously worried and with good reason.

That led his gaze to the amazing figure of the pirate. Jack returned the gaze for a long moment until he found something else of interest to look at. Neither spoke until after the paramedics came and left, bearing Cheri and Kim along with them. That left Kit to face the intruder.

“Now. I believe you said your name was John Sparrow.”

“Yes.”

“And you had some sort of order to deliver?”

He handed over the official looking document he’d picked up from where Kim dropped it when Cheri went down. “Cease and desist order.”

“Dare I ask just exactly what you are asking us to cease and desist?” She scanned the pages swiftly. Then she burst out laughing. “This is a joke.”

“No, it is not. The name of Sparrow will not be invoked, nor will there be any mention of his family.”

“Mr. Sparrow, Captain Jack Sparrow is a historical reality. If we have found his treasure and the remains of the Black Pearl as we believe we have, there is no reason to ignore his existence.”

“I will not have my family name bandied about ….”

“Bandied??? Sparrow was the captain of the pirate ship that terrified the Spanish Main for ten years under Barbosa. The accumulation of treasure on the Isle de Muerte is ... unbelievable. The historical value of this find is incalculable.”

“While the tourist attraction ability of the island is quite calculable,” he interrupted dryly. “Captain Jack Sparrow, regardless of his historical place, is also my ancestor …”

Jack’s eyebrows rose at that.

“And I am not going to allow him to do any more damage to that family than he already has.”

Both Kit and Jack looked confused. “What kind of damage can a dead pirate do?”

John sighed. “Jack Sparrow married and abandoned one of my ancestors. She was pregnant and died while he was gone. He never came back. He abandoned her.”

Kit saw one of those almost lost looks on Jack’s face as his mouth worked to find words. “That doesn’t make it your right to keep us from citing the historical figure. Just makes him that much more of a rotter, doesn’t it?”

“The family ….”

“Stodgy. Always was.” Jack’s sudden interjection took the other two by surprise.

“Who are you and how the hell would you know?”

“He’s researched the family to play the part. He’s quite good, don’t you think?” Kim intercepted Jack’s attempt to introduce himself. Explaining the existence of Jack Sparrow in current time was not something she really wanted to do. Not at all.

Jack, recognizing her apparent desire not to tell this fool who he was talking to, became interested in something else entirely before he said anything they’d both regret. Captain Jack Sparrow knew when to hold his tongue, yes he did.

“As to our use of the Captain’s name, I’m not sure this restraining order will hold up. Mom will refer it to legal and we’ll see what happens.”

“Fair enough. By the way, who was the dark haired woman?”

“That? Oh, that was Dr. Cheri Yuconovich.”

“The archaeologist?”

“You know the name?”

“Hobby of mine. I follow New World finds.”

“Ah.”

 

Chapter Nine

Cheri eyed the gown Jack and Oliver provided with distaste. It was beautiful. It was velvet and brocade and probably about thirty years old, although in very good shape for its age. As an archaeologist, even if she couldn’t recall being one, she appreciated the cut, color and fabric. As a human being she wasn’t remotely going to put it on even if she could figure out how to get it fumigated.

“I don’t think so.”

Raised eyebrows met this.

“It’s that or breeches, love,” Jack told her.

“Breeches it is.”

In spite of their association with Ana Marie, both men looked shocked. Ana Marie, captain of Jack’s second ship, was a slender light chocolate skinned woman with dark hair and liquid dark eyes that softened at the sight of her benefactors. She was also a pirate and thus not constrained to behave or dress as other women did. Cheri was not a pirate. Yet.

“You jest, woman ..” Oliver started.

The hard glitter in her eyes answered him. Nope, she didn’t jest.

“Breeches it is … “ Jack capitulated. He knew that glitter and he wasn’t about to argue with it. He threw open a trunk and rummaged through it, pulling out lengths of fabric and clothing until he found a small pair of breeches and a shirt to go with them. These he tossed to Cheri. “There.”

“Thank you.” She looked at the two of them expectantly. Just because she wasn’t particularly upset about being naked in a sheet with two men in the room, didn’t mean she had any intention of changing clothes with the two of them standing there. “Not a show, gentlemen. Could I have some privacy to get dressed?”

The sudden confusion on both their faces was wonderful. Oliver actually blushed as he turned and headed out the door. Jack eyed her speculatively before deciding that discretion was the better part, for now. He gave her a cheeky grin and departed, the rumbles in his mid-section finally getting his attention. He headed for the galley and sustenance.

Cheri made sure the door was latched before shedding the sheet and pulling on the clothing. Slender as she was, the breeches were a little loose around her waist. She searched through the scattered fabric for a length to turn into a sash. She considered Jack’s boots wistfully. She wasn’t used to going bare foot on a wooden deck and was not fascinated with the idea of splinters. Still, there didn’t seem to be any help for it as there wasn’t a pair of shoes to be seen in the mess all over Jack’s floor. She had vague memories of shoes that weren’t what either man wore. Flashes of other places flickered through her mind, none staying long enough to examine. Only Jack’s face remained distantly familiar.

She straightened the room, neatly folding and repacking the lengths of fabric and other items into the trunk. The small amount of order thus imposed made her feel better. A sword hilt protruding from under another pile of items attracted her attention. Sliding the blade out of its confinement, she was amazed at the quality of workmanship. The balance was perfect. She tried a couple of inexpert passes. The blade felt good in her hand. All right, if she was to join Jack’s crew, armed was a good idea.

She searched briefly for a scabbard. There was none. She slid the blade carefully through a fold of her sash. She giggled as she considered the rakish figure she must present. Ready to face this largely unknown world, she opened the door and shut it again as the stiff breeze blew her loose hair up around her face. She deftly turned the mass into a long braid, then went to look for Jack and Oliver and food.

The smell of fish stew drew her to the galley where she found Jack drinking his breakfast while Oliver regarded him fishily. Not that Oliver was eating much of the stew in front of him. Jack grabbed an apple and munched it happily, a devilish little grin playing around his mouth.

“Must you drink your breakfast?”

“Works, don’t it?”

“Only for so long,” Cheri answered. “The stew … fish stew?” That got a curt nod from the cook. “Fish stew has a lot of protein. It’s better to run on than alcohol.” She helped herself to a bowl of stew, a round of hard tack and sat down after locating a wooden spoon to shovel it down with. “Not bad. Needs something to take the salt edge off.”

“And what would ye be suggestin’?” the cook smirked.

“More potatoes.”

“Oh.”

Conversation lagged as Cheri ate. Oliver worked his way through some more stew. Jack drank, ate a little and headed out on deck to take the wheel from his first officer. To the lee, he could see Ana Marie’s ship following the Black Pearl. He had reservations about this trip, but the crews had voted to go and Jack had said he’d abide by their vote. No matter how much he thought they were wrong headed. No matter how wrong headed he was beginning to think he had been to listen to his partner in this. That was the problem with charming people; they could talk you into things you regretted later. Jack didn’t have a lot of regrets, he smiled at the thought, but he knew there were people who regretted the things he’d talked them into doing.

He ran his hands lovingly over the wheel and put the thoughts out of his mind. He had a horizon and a treasure to sail to, what more could a pirate ask? What more could any man ask? He resolutely pushed the answers to that question out of his mind. He’d chosen his path long ago and wasn’t about to give it up now.

Cheri and Oliver came out a few minutes later. The double takes were amusing. Jack knew there was something odd there; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. And what was he going to do with her?

Cheri took the looks and whispers in stride. Mr. Grim made his usual comments about women and boats being bad luck. She chuckled as she passed him. “Not nearly the bad luck you’d have if you tossed me overboard and I had to come after you,” she said just loud enough for him to hear her. He paled visibly and went on about his work.

She joined Jack at the wheel, surveying their course curiously. Water, water everywhere, she thought. Water and sky broken only by the sails of the ship companioning them. “So, where are we going?”

He shot her a look. “That way.” He nodded forward.

She laughed. “And where did we come from? That way,” she answered her own question with a nod of her head aft. “Not real informative this morning, are you?”

“Perhaps we feel ‘tis none of your business,” Oliver said behind her.

“Perhaps I could be more useful if I had more information,” she shot back sweetly, baring her teeth slightly. Beautiful, straight, white teeth that seemed almost too many for her mouth.

“And just what can ye do?” Jack asked, noting the sword tucked through her sash.

“What do you want me to do?”

That was straight and to the point. A little more straight and to the point than Jack was ready for right now. He stared into her eyes and knew one thing he wanted to do, but this was not the time or the place. Under that direct stare, he felt his face redden slightly. He cleared his throat and resolutely dragged his gaze from hers before he got lost in it. “Can ye steer a ship?”

“Dunno. Got a point to hold?”

He gave her a point and she took the wheel. After a few minutes, it was obvious she could hold a steady course. This allowed Jack and Oliver to go below and check the map to make certain they were still on the right heading.

“Jack –“

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t finish my question.”

“I’ve no more idea of where the wench came from than ye do. Twas by myself I went to bed and with her here I awoke. I’ve got no idea where she came from or how she got here than anyone else on this ship has. If I’d no belief in magic, I’d not be sittin’ here talkin’ to ye, as ye be well aware. She’s not yet brought trouble to me, nor – nor do I think she be goin’ to ……… and ask me not how I be a knowin’ of that … “

Oliver smiled. “All right. I’ll take your word that she’s not a problem. For now. If she becomes one ….”

A wolfish grin split Jack’s sun tanned face. “Then we’ll both be knowin’ how to handle it, won’t we?”

“Aye.”

Cheri kept the helm for several hours while Jack and Oliver conferred. She suspected they were napping below as they were both yawning and stretching when they reappeared. Jack took the wheel with a nod, dismissing her to amuse herself as long as she was in no one’s way. She took the time to familiarize herself with the crew. By sundown, she knew the names and positions of all the crew. Having served with Ana Marie as alternating captain and first mate, most of them had no problem with Cheri’s presence on the ship. Her skill at the helm gave her credence among them. Soon enough they would see her other skills in action.

Cheri entered the Captain’s cabin; not having been assigned sleeping quarters elsewhere, to find Oliver frowning over the map. He was unaware of her presence before she spoke. “Looks like you’ve got a map of Inca cities there. Bhopal, Tikal … Headed for the Yucatan?”

“And what would ye be knowin’ of the Yucatan?” His look was blandly dangerous.

She opened her mouth and closed it with a shrug of her shoulders. “About what I just said, apparently. Nasty area. Semi-rainforest. Limestone with a thin veneer of dirt, just enough to scrounge a farming life out of, nothing to write home about.”

“And treasure?”

“You’re kidding? You’re not kidding. What the conquistadors didn’t find and steal, the natives have so well hidden they can’t find it again.”

Oliver laughed at that. “You may be right. But it’s a chance we’ll take.” Gold and glory, it was the oldest story in the book, if she bought it. Something in her measuring gaze told him she wasn’t completely convinced, but she would let him think she was for now. Both satisfied, they turned to other topics of conversation, with Oliver carrying the weight as Cheri’s memory was hazy at best and strange at worst.

Jack stumbled in some time after midnight to fall into bed. He checked to make certain he was alone. Then he wondered where his potentially unwelcome guest was bedded down. A sneeze brought him bolt upright. He lit a candle and looked around. Cheri was tucked into a neat bed near the windows. One sleepy green eye slit open at his unwarranted noise and light.

“Reassign me tomorrow,” she muttered sleepily. “If anything happens tonight, I’ll have your back. Sleep well.”

Jack accepted her words, put out the candle and settled in to sleep as dreamlessly as possible. Then he frowned and felt a touch of worry. What could happen at sea that he would need someone to watch his back? Answer: Pirates.

As luck and the powers that guide fate would have it, all aboard the Black Pearl and its companion ship were granted a quiet night. Jack awoke to silence. Cheri’s bed had vanished as had the lady herself. He was torn between hope she was gone and worry that she was gone.

As he stepped out on deck his worry and hope were equally dashed. Cheri was sitting on the rail watching the bow wave roll by. The sea sparkled around the ship. The sky was a deep hypnotic blue with only a couple of clouds lazing around in its depths. As she wasn’t particularly needed for anything, Cheri was enjoying the view, the salt air and the freedom.

“Scalawags,” Jack greeted his crew affectionately. He nodded to Oliver who was also enjoying the fresh air and moved to take the helm. The Black Pearl cut through the waters like a living thing under his hands. Time passed in ship board work. Voices were raised in sea chanteys now and again to make the time and the work pass faster. At day’s end they were closer to the Yucatan Peninsula than they had been, but not within sight. Soon, they would see the cliffs and beaches of the alien land they sought. All hands were wondering what they would find there, and if Jack’s luck would hold to bring them home.

 

Chapter Ten

Cheri spent the day observing shipboard life and pitching in where she could be useful. The men made sure the ship was ready for anything ... contact, landfall, rough weather or fair. The wind stayed steady. Jack and his crew took turns at the wheel, guiding the Black Pearl on her journey. Staring up at the crow’s nest near the top of the main mast, Cheri felt drawn upward. Sure-footed as a cat, she climbed the rigging until she joined the crewman in the wind above. Acres of sail billowed out below her on the square rigged masts. All around her was wind and silence, the sound of the sea below a distant background to the sky.

“’Tis bad luck to have a woman on board a ship,” the sailor said with a grin.

“Possibly worse luck to throw one overboard due to ancient superstitions. I suspect the reason it was bad luck originally was because losing a woman to raiders, bad weather, and other things was to lose the right to her progeny as well. Personally, I feel like good luck, not bad.”

He laughed. “Then ‘twould ill beget us to let ye fall away, lass. ‘Tis not many would brave the rats to get here.”

“Their loss. Nothing to see but sea and sky from up here at the moment, but the wonder of that alone is well worth the climb.”

They settled into companionable silence after that. Cheri drowsed, dreaming of a reality far different, losing it as she came fully awake to watch the far horizon.

Another place and time, Jack Sparrow stared at the Aztec gold and weighed his options. It was good to have a body again, even one cursed with being undead. There was an uneasiness that kept him from breaking his part of the curse. Too long had he been a ghost, unable to touch or be touched. Not that there had been anyone or anything to touch during his long years on the Isle.

Now there was the freedom of movement that being whole again granted him. No more walking through walls instead of doorways for Jack. No more sailing for him either, from what Cheri had said. That saddened him. The freedom of the seas was now as bound in rules and regulations as the rest of the world. Was there no place for a man who lived by his wits and his sword? All this passed through his mind as he scowled at the apparent descendent of his who would put a stop to all that Cheri’s friend was doing. Arrogant pup.

Kit knelt by her aunt’s still form, checking her pulse and trying to figure out what was wrong with her. “Mom. I think we have a problem.”

Kim, glaring at John Sparrow, nodded. “We’ll handle it.”

“No. I mean Aunt Cheri.”

Kim looked around and down. “Cheri. Hey … “ She went to her daughter’s side and examined her friend. “Ok, this is not good.” She pulled out her cell phone and made a couple of quick, emergency calls.

“Mom?”

Kim shrugged her shoulders. She’d seen Cheri crazy, dead and depressed, as well as occasionally unconscious. She’d never dealt with breaking a curse before. Whatever was going on, Cheri was comatose from the look of things and that meant they needed medical assistance to keep her as healthy as possible until she came out of the coma. Kim said as much. “Beyond my capabilities, little one. We need specialized help.”

John frowned at this. “What is going on?” he finally asked, his curiosity overcoming his common sense.

Kit looked up, keeping her astonishment at the duplication of looks between Jack and this new comer at bay, and shrugged her shoulders. “Not sure. Something about breaking a curse.”

He snorted in derision. “I’m sure it plays well, but ---“

“Excuse me, sir. Could I get past please?”

He moved out of the way for a number of paramedic types to enter the room. In the burst of practical efficiency that followed, he lost his attitude of superiority and began to wonder if there wasn’t more going on here than the obvious. Coupled with the “actor’s” comments earlier, there did seem to be something odd going on.

Cheri was carried out on a stretcher, followed closely by Kim. Kit was left to deal with Mr. Sparrow and Captain Sparrow. She felt a little out of her depth as she watched her mother escort her aunt out. To gain some time before dealing with the two men, she re-read the cease and desist order. “We can’t use the Sparrow name at all? Why?”

“We prefer not to deal with the repercussions of being related to …”

“A scoundrel? A pirate? A scalawag?”

“Precisely.”

“And just which strumpet off Tortuga started your stalwart line, me boy? If I be a problem, I can imagine ye’ve cleaned her history up a bit,” Jack said with a leer.

John seemed to use all his strength to restrain himself. Then he realized what Jack was saying. “What the hell … I’ve heard of method actors but ……..”

“Long story. Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, John Sparrow of … whatever. Decking your ancestor when he hasn’t got a clue what you’re talking about is not couth. There will be no fighting in here,” Kit laid down the law as soon as she finished the introductions.

“You .. you’re serious. This is … That’s impossible.”

“That’s my Aunt Cheri. Six impossible things before breakfast and heaven only knows how many during the rest of the day. Look, at the moment, everything’s in abeyance until my aunt is on her feet again anyway. As to the cease and desist, legal will take care of our end. You really want to end up in court forever?”

“Is that a threat?” John’s voice turned silky.

Kit laughed. “Hardly. KEI, Inc. has enough money already to tie this up for a long time. We’d prefer to hammer it out otherwise. We have the original, we have the Black Pearl and we have the treasure on the island. Our plans are long range.”

“Entertainment …”

“Don’t sound so disgusted. The proceeds go to a good cause. Well, several good causes, including funding several underwater archaeological investigations. Mom is nothing if not diverse. So, what’s the deal with not liking Jack?” Kit asked, linking arms with both men and taking them out of the storeroom.

 

Chapter Eleven

As they left the storeroom, Kit broached the subject of John’s dislike of Jack. Not getting an answer, she went on to trying to get an understanding of the curse. “So, if I am getting this correctly, the stone chest holds tribute given to Cortez to stop his onslaught on the Aztec Empire. It didn’t work so. Legend has it the Aztec gods, being an awfully black and white lot, as well as bloody handed, cursed the gold. Maybe yes, maybe no. I’ve never met a god, personally. The curse is real. Whoever takes gold from the chest …”

“Cannot die, but isn’t really alive, either,” Jack supplied softly.

“Undead, essentially.”

John snorted. “You expect me to believe –“

Kit gave him a look that stopped his objection. “Ok, to probably misquote, there are more things in heaven and earth, John Sparrow. My aunt is what my mom calls a weirdness magnet. Ghosts .. although in this case, I met Jack first … cyber crazies, energy aliens, and the odd assortment of assassins, clones, would be world conquerors, gypsies, tramps and thieves ……. You kinda get the picture? A little thing like a treasure, a ghost and a curse is minor where we’re concerned.”

“And him?” he jerked his head toward Jack. “What? He’s been around for …”

“No!” Jack’s denial was emphatic. Jack wondered at his own need to deny having been around for the approximately two hundred years since his … death. He still had a hard time dealing with that word in connection with himself. “Not … “

“Jack was a ghost,” Kit inserted helpfully.

“A ghost? Damn solid for a ghost.”

“Was a ghost,” Kit emphasized. “Apparently he died trying to grab a coin and get it out of the chest.”

John snorted again. “Trying to cheat death.”

Jack looked affronted. “My crew ……” he started through gritted teeth.

“I’m sure Jack had a good reason for what he was attempting. Unfortunately, it didn’t work exactly right. Jack – died with his hand still in the chest. The curse seems to be very specific in this area. The coin must be removed from the chest. In Jack’s case, he intended to remove the coin, but didn’t because he couldn’t. Then we came along and completed the action for him.”

John looked the pirate up and down. “Well, at least he’s not a moldering, walking corpse.”

“Catch me by moonlight, whelp,” Jack shot back.

“Would you not call me names?”

“Keep a civil tongue in your head. Who was your mother --- the lass ye think … that’s bloody tangled, ain’t it?”

“Elaine Everard Sparrow,” John answered the question of his ancestry. That should get some sort of reaction.

It did. Jack stopped and stared at the man. “Elaine … ?” His mouth curved into a smile that broke into laughter. John and Kit both stared at Jack in turn. He was leaning on the hallway wall laughing until he practically cried. “Sorry, mate. Poor Elaine. Spent all her time being reviled for marrying a scalawag for all the wrong reasons ……”

“What is so amusing about that?” John was deadly quiet coming to the defense of his ancestor.

“The whelp wasn’t mine, bucko. Ye be no get of mine.”

“What?”

Jack laughed again, but there was a tinge of sorrow to it. “Poor gel fell for a pretty face and a pretty uniform. Geoffrey Ward. He promised … “ Jack’s face darkened. He wasn’t above seduction, but his had always been honest. If he wanted a girl, he wanted her to want him, not some promise he’d no intention of keeping. “He told her he loved her, told her he’d marry her when he got back. Only he didn’t come back. He died. Stupidly. He was thrown from a horse while on parade. Idiot spurred his horse when he shouldn’t have. Broke his neck.”

“Nice story. Marry her to save her name?” There was derision in John’s voice.

Jack met his gaze squarely with that odd streak of honesty that occasionally surfaced in him. “I was leaving. Didn’t matter to me what people thought. I’d already been in a spot of trouble.” There was that cheeky grin again. “But it mattered to her. She was beside herself when she realized what she’d done for that fool. Too good for him by half, but never know a sheltered gel to have half the sense a doxy is born with.”

“Uh, Jack, why you?” Kit asked.

The dark eyes warmed with memory. Elaine was never a woman to him, but always the friend of his younger sister. He shied from the pain of his sister’s unfortunate loss and shrugged his shoulders. “She .. I just did.”

“You gave her your name. You left. Didn’t you ever check back?”

Her gave a look that asked what kind of a man did she think he was. “She died.”

John cleared his throat. “She died in childbirth, Miss Elkins.”

“Actually, Miss Elkins is my mother. We’re a little less concerned with legitimacy these days. And before you ask, he died, messily, long before Mom knew I existed.”

“So, what is your name?”

“Kitrin Elkins Anderson.”

“Miss Anderson, then.”

“Kit. I’m not too great on formality except when I absolutely have to be. So, Elaine died … something over two hundred years ago giving birth to a baby that wasn’t Jack’s and you’re still holding a grudge?”

“I didn’t know it ….” John broke off his defense of his dislike of Jack. “All right, it may seem a trifle extreme, but the family was adamant in its dislike of …”

“Having a pirate in the family,” Jack offered. “Especially one who didn’t bring his ill gotten gains home, so to speak,” he finished dryly.

John looked offended for a moment before a rueful grin curved his own mouth upwards. He nodded his agreement. “I’m beginning to think that was exactly it when you consider the fuss that’s been made over the treasure Miss Elkins found,” he admitted. “She could have cleared your name before she died,” he muttered.

“Ye forget, a gel’s good name was about all she had. A fun time and that was gone. Some could have held their head high and gone on with it, but Elaine’s family was demmed straight-laced, laddie.”

John struggled with this for a moment and admitted the truth of what Jack was saying. Today an out of wedlock child was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. Even “well brought up” young women chose to experiment and then deal with the consequences on their own, without the father if necessary and very little censure was heard. Two hundred years ago a woman could be legally turned out of the house with nothing more than the clothes on her back if her family was angry enough about her indiscretion, or worse and no one would lift a hand to help or deny the family’s righteous wrath. The phrase “no better than she should be” came to mind abruptly.

“They’d have disowned her?”

Jack nodded. “Not a pretty option for a gel just out of the school room, as the saying goes. I does the pretty, she tearfully tells the tale, it’s all right ‘n tight. She’s an honest, abandoned woman and the whelp has a name ... the wrong name, but a name.”

“Obviously, you weren’t a big, bad pirate yet,” Kit inserted with a grin.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I was well on me way, darlin’. Had a ship,” the dreamy look he always got when he spoke even obliquely about the Black Pearl came into his eyes. He sighed. “She was a beautiful thing.”

“She is a beautiful thing,” Kit corrected him.

“Aye.”

“Anyone else starving to death?” Both men looked at her curiously. “So, I missed breakfast …”

Jack pointed out that Cheri had fed him, fully. What he really wanted, he discovered, was a bath. That was an easy wish to fulfill. While Kit and John went to get a bite to eat, Jack could shower or soak to his heart’s content. There was a lavish bathroom, complete with sunken whirlpool tub just off Cheri’s office.

“She tends to live wherever she’s working when she’s really intent,” Kit explained. “So, comfortable couch and a respite from the world bathroom.” She showed Jack how to work the spigots that fed hot water into the tub. “Leave your clothes outside the door and I’ll bring clean for you. I won’t make them disappear, I’ll just have them cleaned,” she promised when she saw his doubtful look. Cheeky beggar, she thought as he grinned at her. They left him to the steamy hot water.

Once they were gone, Jack sat and watched the tub fill for a few minutes. The room was warm, muggy like a tropical night. Glass bottles on the floor near the rim of the tub caught his attention. Opening them, he discovered scented salts to be dumped into the water. One smelled of spice and brought back memories of a hot bath on shipboard. He poured some of the contents into the water and swirled it around with one hand. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled his head.

He stripped out of his clothes and lowered himself into the tub, finding a comfortable place to sit and soak the grime and dirt of centuries off his body. He looked down at himself. The scars of his life were still there. Gunshot scars, pirate brand, he eased his shoulders and could feel the pucker and give of the whip scars across his shoulders, all of them still there. Two hundred years ………. Damn that was a long time.

He relaxed back against the side of the tub and drowsed, letting his mind wander. The heat and scent were not as satisfying as he’d have liked, but that was to be expected given the curse. He remembered a bath a long time ago. Similar scents, soft hands …. Cheri. His eyes flew open as memories came back full force. Cheri had been on his ship. Only she hadn’t remembered her own name at the time. Am .. Amn … Amn . something … what the hell had she called it? Amnesia, that was it. Total loss of conscious memory, she’d had.

Cheri on his ship, in his cabin …. In his …. His mind boggled a bit there. He took a breath and faced the fact that the curse had done something very odd where Cheri was concerned. His mouth quirked up in a smile. Well, immortals and curses could make things a bit dicey, couldn’t they? He settled back into the water and his memories.

 

Chapter Twelve

Jack slid into that half drowse that a good soak in hot water sometimes engenders. He let his mind drift, not something an alert villain does very often, and Jack did think of himself as a villain. After all, he was a pirate. He’d flown the Jolly Roger and pillaged to his heart’s content …. Sort of. Captain Jack Sparrow did not always follow the conventions of piracy any more than he did those of the common place, ordinary persons of his time. With the treasure of the Isle de Muerte in his hold, the Black Pearl was free to go anywhere and do whatever the crew wished.

This was why he had agreed to help that idiot Green in his quest for more gold. The more fool he for doing so. He licked his lips, wishing he had a good tankard of rum to go with the soak. His thoughts turned to Cheri again. She was a right one, even without her memory. He smiled as he recalled her wandering into his midnight thoughts.

She’d found him doing what he usually did around midnight, getting drunk. It helped pass the time on long voyages. Without ceremony, or asking, she twirled a chair around and straddled it, her eyes on him, forcing him to look at her.

“Well, wench?”

She smiled. He wasn’t certain he appreciated the understanding in that smile. “So, just what are you trying to forget?”

That hit a nerve. Jack scowled at her. “What should I be tryin’ t’fergit? Nothin’.”

“Uh-huh.” The agreement was skeptical. “That might explain the amount of rum you’re guzzling, if we were safely ashore in Tortuga. A good time fueled by alcohol is understandable. We’re at sea. This is your ship.” She deftly poured a cup for herself. “We’re on our way to do something you and Green have agreed on and you’re getting soused around midnight every night while we’re on our way.” She lifted the tankard and drained it. For just a moment she regretted the gesture. This was undoubtedly the rawest rum she had ever encountered.

Cheri blasphemed in three languages Jack didn’t recognize before she hit Cantonese. That one he understood. His grin showed his surprised appreciation of her command of language. She could tell that shock was warring with that approval as she grinned back. She topped up both their cups and waited.

“So, a woman, family or a child?” she finally prompted when Jack wasn’t forthcoming with the information she wanted.

“Life.”

“Life? Difficult to forget all of it. Unless you’ve got amnesia, of course.”

There was that cheeky grin. “How many languages do ye command, lass?”

“Sixteen … damn.” She blinked at her instant answer. “Gives me a lot to work with,” she finished with a chuckle.

“Traveled a lot?”

Flashes of foreign cities and country sides answered that question. “It would seem so. Frustrating not to be able to just say yes or no to a question.”

“Is it? Ye’ve not enjoyed the bit o’ mystery?”

“Bit, Captain? I’ve more mystery now than I had when I awoke in your bed. Sixteen languages, a pistol feels right at home in my hand while a sword is functional but foreign? I abhor gowns, yet there’s something not quite right about breeches. I’m on one of the fastest ships on the sea, yet it feels … slow, somehow? You’re drinking yourself into oblivion and I’m the one who feels odd about it.” She downed some more rum. It felt less raw in her throat.

There was that devilish grin of his again. “We’ll solve what needs solving, love. For the rest … “ he raised his mug in salute, then downed the contents.

His answer made her chuckle. “Definitely a day at a time sort aren’t you?” He nodded, discovered the bottle was empty and frowned. Cheri caught his arm as he made to get up. “I’ve got a better idea,” she said softly.

Some time later, Jack was soaking in hot water lightly scented with spices. With his eyes closed he could pick out cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and a faint underlying whiff of incense. He relaxed back in the water, back against the surprisingly soft hands working the kinks out of his shoulders. The last time he’d felt this soothed and relaxed was in Singapore …….. the thought galvanized him. Only Cheri’s hands on his shoulders kept him from practically levitating out of the tub.

“It’s ok. You’re safe,” she murmured, her lips soft against his ear.

He shuddered and let the tension slide out, looking up into her face as she bent over him. She looked serene until she grinned down at him. Following the grin with a light kiss that deepened into something hot and passionate, Jack let the past slide away in the pleasures of now. Sometime later, they drifted to sleep in a tangle of sheets and sweat slicked limbs.

Jack awoke with a sense of well being followed by sudden worry. He was alone in bed. A small noise brought his attention to his night’s companion. A satisfied smile and a frown warred across his face. She smiled, tying off the long braid she was plaiting.

“Don’t look so worried.” She could read his look as she crossed to the bed and sat on the edge. She took one of his slender hands, much cleaner than usual, in hers.

“Darlin’,” he started.

“Don’t. It’s all right. I’m not asking for anything you can’t give.” She refrained from laughing at his quizzical look. “Jack, I understand your ship and freedom come first.” She laid a finger across his lips to keep him silent. “It’s not a hardship. I’m not your normal hearth and home sort myself, or so I suspect. I enjoyed last night.” They smiled at each other. “But I’m more useful than that.” She stopped him from commenting again. “Let me finish. I can guard your back. I stand at your right shoulder. This undertaking is dangerous. So am I.” She spoke with complete conviction.

“I take it ye believe ye can sail under the orders of a pirate …”

“Like I have a choice?” She laughed then. “We seem to be more into adventuring at the moment than piracy.”

Jack shrugged. “Treasure is treasure.”

“And not all that glitters is gold. Deal, Captain?” She held out her hand.

“Deal,” he agreed, taking it. The gesture was a little marred by his immediately pulling her down own top of him and mussing her clothes with his subsequent behavior.

Sometime later, a call of land ho roused the two of them. They hit the deck, along with Oliver who had been taking a nap in his quarters, to see the faint dark line on the horizon betokening land.

“Sail Ho!” came the call from above.

All eyes swiveled aft to see practically nothing on that horizon. Cheri pulled a collapsing telescope out of Jack’s pocket and put it to her eye. The speck behind them came into distant focus. Worn sails patched with colorful rags and a black flag bearing the skull and cross-bones of a pirate ship.

“Great. Another pirate.”

Jack took the telescope and put it to his eye. “Half a day behind us. The Black Pearl is the fastest ship in these waters.”

“Your second ship is not as fast. Have her peel off and head away.”

“To what purpose?”

“Split the target. If the ship behind us is after the treasure as well, Captain Ana Marie and her crew will be our back up should it come to a fight. I’d think twice before tackling two ships, especially as well outfitted for a battle as these two are.”

Oliver nodded. “There’s much in what she says. Send a signal?”

Jack considered his options. Rivera on their trail was bad. Ana Marie and her crew in reserve was good. He nodded. “Signal the Golden Girl, she’s to bear off north and use her judgment … “

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the acknowledgement.

The signal was passed and the Golden Girl changed course away from the Black Pearl. Captain Ana Marie and her crew were aware of the ship behind them. Ana Marie looked through her own telescope, considering her options. The Black Pearl was the fastest ship in the area, even without the curse that helped Barbosa and his crew. The Golden Girl was no match for the black ship. She might not be a match for the ship Rivera sailed. If both ships were engaged in combat, however … a roguish grin lit the woman’s face. Count on Jack to know the angles.

On the other ship, the first mate nodded in grim satisfaction. “Ye be right, Captain. Sparrow splits his forces to keep us off. Follow we the Pearl or the Girl?”

“The Pearl, Grimmaud. We do not want to get too close. They can do the work. We will take what we want once it is aboard the Black Pearl.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Grimmaud looked quite satisfied with his Captain’s decision.

Chapter Thirteen

(Gibbs: “It’s bad luck havin’ a Chapter Thirteen.”

Jack: “Twould be worse luck not havin’ a Chapter Thirteen. About your business.”)

The Black Pearl headed in toward shore as the Golden Girl under Captain Ana Marie sheared off and headed parallel to the coast line. The following ship seemed content to stay back and wait.

“This is gonna make life interesting,” Cheri commented more to herself than anyone else.

“Aye,” Gibbs agreed. “Tis bad luck having a ship commanded by a woman sitting off our stern.”

“Gibbs, is there anything a woman isn’t bad luck for?” Cheri asked with a laugh in her voice. The man blushed and went about his business leaving her with the understanding that there was indeed something and he was a bit bashful to discuss it with her. Fine pirate that man was.

Cheri moved closer to Jack and Oliver who were splitting their attention between the thickening dark line of land in front of them and the ship behind them. “It looks like Rivera and her crew will be content to try for us after we’ve taken the prize, whatever that is. Or to wait until most of the crew is off the Black Pearl before she attacks.”

“Aye,” Jack agreed. “Tis not the most comfortable situation I’ve been in.”

“We are headed for the right place?”

“Aye,” he answered without thinking. Oliver raised an eyebrow at him. “Tis plain enough we’ll be making land fall before dark, would ye have me lie?”

“No.” Oliver didn’t point out that for a pirate Jack was not much of a liar. “We’re making for an area of the Yucatan.”

“Wonderful. I like snakes, but I’m not too fond of monkeys, bats and other cold blooded critters that live in that jungle. I’ll guard the ship.”

“Desertin’ me already?” Jack murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

“Unless, of course, the captain believes he needs my help,” she added sweetly.

“One of those languages ye speak, love?”

Cheri blinked. Did she? “I guess we’ll find out,” she agreed with a sigh. Something nagged at the back of her mind telling her that she would be more useful on the ship, but without more than that to go on, she held her tongue and went with the land bound part of the expedition.

They left a skeleton crew on board the Black Pearl to keep her safe while the majority of the crew went into the long boats and headed for the shore. Oliver kept referring to his map worriedly. If there was nothing there, what was he going to do to pay Jack and his crew for the trip?

Two centuries and more in the future, Jack sat up in the bath, the water was getting cool and he was a great deal more relaxed than he could recall feeling in a while. He was also remembering the trek through the jungle with Cheri, Oliver and his crew. The natives had given them a wide berth, or so they believed. As he dried his body with a towel, marveling at the thick, soft plush feel of the thing, he recalled the wet heat of the jungle.

None of his men were acclimatized to the oppressive feel of the encroaching plants and the hot, wet air. They called halts to their march every hour or so. Cheri grumbled about the lack of something called a machete.

“It’s a bladed specially suited to hacking your way through the jungle. Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction? Doesn’t look as though there’s been anyone through here in centuries ….. or years, considering the jungle.”

Both Oliver and Jack gave her one of those “duh” looks. He smiled at the recollection. No longer playing their hand quite so close to their vests, the two men had let Cheri look at the map and help on figuring out just exactly where they were and where they were going. Three days after they left the ship, six large snakes, an encounter with an army ant march and having chased away countless tarantulas, they arrived at an obviously man made clearing in the jungle.

Bodies littered the area in various states of decomposition. It was obvious there was something more unwholesome about this area than about the jungle surrounding them. The plants growing over the bodies were stunted in their growth and ugly, even to eyes raised on wilder terrain than the ordered gardens of England. Jack shuddered at the memory. The very ground was poisoned against men and animals.

The crew was all for giving up. It was one thing to pillage a town to which they had laid siege and won. There was something there to lay into. This …. This was the stuff of superstition and nightmare. Jack and Oliver studied the map, figuring the treasure lay inside the mound at the center of the area. Cheri looked at the surrounding jungle for an answer to crossing the dirt and digging without touching it.

Credit the wench for her brains, it took them two days to cut and work the trees to make a walkway and platform to get them to the mound and dig into it in relative safety. Three of the men sickened from contact with the dirt, two died before they found an antidote to the poison. Jack was thankful they’d left Mr. Gibbs on the ship or they’d have had more statements of doom, despair and bad luck than Jack thought he could handle. He was very certain that no amount of plunder would pay him for the torment of those days. He was also certain he did not appreciate the snatches of a song Cheri kept muttering under her breath and chuckling about either. Something about “doom, despair and agony on me, deep dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all ….” (1) Even if the inventive lyrics that went with the refrain made his lips twitch in an appreciative smirk.

The layer of dirt over the rock vault beneath their feet was thin, washed away by the rains over the years since temple, or whatever it was, was built. There was a single room beneath with a very ugly, even by pre-Columbian standards, statue carved of jade surrounded by mounds of funerary items in gold. Cheri entered the room, lit only by torchlight, and stopped.

“This is not good,” she muttered, not really understanding why she said it but convinced that it was so.

Oliver sighed behind her and gave her a push to get into the room past her. A grin split his face. “What’s so bad about it?” he wanted to know, surveying more gold than he’d ever seen in one place before. Visions of restored wealth danced in his head. He didn’t like being poor. He did like the things wealth could purchase for him, the creature comforts he was lacking at the moment.

“These are funeral goods,” Cheri explained as to a not too bright child. “Grave goods? Things they bury people with? D’you see a body? A sarcophagus? A crypt? Anything except that god awful statue?” Her voice was sharp with annoyance and worry. Something about this treasure trove disturbed her deeply and she wasn’t worried about spooking the crew by showing her concern.

Jack, catching the drift of this verbal snow storm was perfectly happy to back out the way he’d come in, casting a wistful eye over the treasure of ages they’d found, and leave. He had a treasure, as he had pointed out when he started on this treasure hunt. He didn’t need the one they’d found, not if it meant tangling with something worse than Barbosa and the curse the Aztec gold carried.

Oliver, hearing only the fear of a woman’s heart and not the hard earned wisdom behind her questions, rounded on Cheri, angry. “Afeared of the hobgoblins and banshees, are ye, lass? What know ye of aught of this? Ye’ve no memory to speak of, wench.”

Cheri called him a couple of choice if incomprehensible names, took a breath and tried to restrain her natural inclination to deck the man. After all, this was not a rational, thinking human being; this was a gold hungry treasure hunter who didn’t have balls enough to be a pirate. Where the hell had that thought come from? She took another breath, counted to ten and tried to find the words that might convince Oliver that this particular pile of gold was better not collected.

“It’s a heathen temple. Why are ye so affrighted? ‘Tis naught here to …..” Oliver continued, his attention on the woman annoying him to the exclusion of all else.

Which was when the statue moved.

Jack spent a moment comparing that terrifying moment to dying and couldn’t accurately figure out which was worse. How did one stop a stone statue once it was moving? The pirates turned almost as one and bolted for the nearest exit. Jack, Cheri and Oliver stopped as they realized there was a bottleneck situation for getting out of the opening. Then they realized that the opening was blocked.

Jack threw a glance over his shoulder at the statue. It was looking at him. “This is bad. This is very bad,” he muttered under his breath, pulling his sword and prepared to sell his life dearly, regardless of how foolish that was when faced with a stone statue.

The statue spoke. The voice rolled out like thunder, ringing the ears and practically deafening everyone. Cheri, holding her ears, yelled a response. To Jack and Oliver it sounded as though she was telling the thing to shut up. Silence fell, sweet balm to eardrums over taxed by sound.

The thing sat down, crushing thin gold cups and masks and melding piles of golden disks into lumps. It boomed again. Everybody did a Jack-like wobble in reaction, except Jack who was frowning at the thing and Cheri who was looking bewildered.

“Shit,” she said succinctly and in English.

“What … What says that monster?” Oliver demanded.

“Uhm …. It’s … not dead.”

“That we figured out,” Oliver said wryly. “What does it want?”

“To go home,” Cheri responded, her voice shaking on the verge of hysteria. Why did this always happen to her? What was it about things that didn’t belong here ………. Her vision shimmered wildly, showing her things she didn’t remember clearly, sending electric shocks through her body. Jack caught her arm without thinking and shared a couple of flashes of energy before she pulled loose. Her eyes more black than green, she turned to him, worried.

“Jack … are you all right?” A young woman’s voice cut through his memories.

Outside the door, Kit with an armload of clean clothes, frowned at the lack of response.

“I be fine. The water’s gone cold.”

“Dry off and open the door.”

“Already dry,” he told her as he opened the door. That smarmy smirk crossed his face again as he appreciated her long look at the clean pirate in the doorway. Her eyes finally traveled up to his face and she blushed as she handed him the clothing.

“Uhm …” she swallowed and tried to find her voice again. She didn’t know which was more fascinating, the long lean length of him, or the scars or that hot eyed look he got occasionally. “The jeans button, obviously. The underwear pulls on; I think you can figure out the rest of it.” She beat a hasty retreat up the hallway as he reached for the tuck securing the towel around his waist. She heard his throaty chuckle behind her and blushed harder. Maybe she was her mother’s daughter after all ……….

A few moments later, Jack in his own boots pulled up over the tight legged jeans, a soft cotton knit shirt with a button up placket hugging his torso and a tailored light wool suit jacket over that, swaggered out to join Kit and John. The clothing was a tighter fit than he was used to, but it was comfortable, and soft on the skin. He looked a little like a reggae businessman, except for the rakish tri-corn had set on his head. John looked his apparently non-ancestor up and down and nodded.

John looked to Kit. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.” They both looked to Jack curiously.

“Break the curse,” he said almost soundlessly.

Kit looked confused. “We did that.”

Jack pulled a coin from his pocket. “No. We broke Cheri’s part of the curse. There was a chance that it would take both of us to break it completely. Right now, she’s in two places … I think.”

“What?”

Quickly, if somewhat idiomatically, Jack explained about Cheri and Oliver and the demon statue that wanted to go home. Kit’s laughter did not sit well with either man.

“Sorry. You need to know my aunt better. So what happened?”

What happened? Cheri conversed with the statue for a time to find out exactly what they were dealing with, then sat in a corner and wept for a few minutes. None of the pirates had a clue what was going on. Jack finally walked over and asked her.

“Sorry.” She wiped her face. “It’s … so alone. Poor thing doesn’t belong here and they … the natives didn’t understand either. It’s trapped here by something on the walls, some sort of spell. All we have to do is figure out how to break it and set the being free. It can take care of going home after that.”

“Oh. That’s a relief. Here I thought it be something hard we be doin’.” His tone was a bit sarky.

That got a smile from Cheri. “The treasure is ours once it’s gone. It has no need of the gold,” she said softly. “Of course, I haven’t got a clue what is holding it here. I mean, magic doesn’t normally work …. Just smoke and mirrors …”

That got both of their minds working. What if instead of the old situation with the cursed gold Jack held, this was just words? He quickly enlisted his men and Oliver to scour the walls for anything that looked like a latch. Pirates, as he pointed out, frequently had a way with finding hidden latches and exits … or entrances, he’d added with a laugh.

One of the men found a loose area of stonework. The stone shifted under his hand when touched. Cheri pulled him out of the way as the release activated and sent a hail of probably poisoned darts down on the exact area where the man had stood. Then a doorway slid open beside the latch. Cheri and the man exchanged a grin. Jack yelled for someone to block the doorway open.

The statue stood and stretched. The stone glowed and shifted shape until something infinitely more ugly and beautiful than the statue stood in the middle of the room. Without out a sound, it slid out the door and was gone leaving the humans gaping behind it. The room shook.

“Out!” Jack and Cheri shouted at the same time.

Grabbing what was at hand, the pirates ran for the exit. Oliver alone did not move. As the vault shuddered and started to crumble around him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the treasure. He couldn’t move knowing that he’d have to leave without it.

Cheri grabbed his arm and tugged at him. “You’ll get it,” she yelled over the groans of shifting tons of rock. “Just not today! Come on! I don’t think squashed flat is something you can recover from.” She pulled him toward the exit, ignoring the half fearful look he was giving her.

The pirates, in true pirate fashion, were making a dash for safety across the planks they’d laid down. Jack, last in line, his pockets as full as possible of loot, spared a look backward to see if Oliver and Cheri were going to join them before hot footing it across the planks to the jungle. The mound collapsed behind them as they ran for it, the deadly sand and dirt falling into the hole until the entire clearing was a large depression of jumbled stone and dirt.

“Wow.”

Cheri’s single word comment set Oliver laughing, then Jack, while the rest of the men, knowing their captain was half mad anyway, set about cataloging the loot they’d wrested from the collapsing cavern. The laughter died as Cheri became aware of being watched. She turned to the huge hole in the ground and froze in amazement and fear.

Hovering over the depression was a ….. What was it?

Jack blinked to clear his sight and found it was still there when he looked again. “That be a dragon?”

“Uhm …. Dragons have feathers?” Cheri asked uncertainly.

The great feathered serpent laughed. A smaller version peeped around it. In a voice like the wind caressing the trees the serpent thanked them for their service. Cheri and Jack bowed. What else could they do? When they straightened, the expedition was standing on the beach next to their long boats, the boats filled nearly to overflowing with gold and silver. Jack was standing closed enough to one of the boats that when his knees buckled from shock he landed on the gunwale of the boat, preserving his dignity nicely. Cheri’s sudden sit landed her in the sand.

“What the hell was that???” Oliver demanded shakily.

“Kulkulkan … Quetzalcoatl … The great feathered serpent deity of the South American empires … rain god,” Cheri answered, trying very hard to sit on her hysterical giggles. “Fuck!” she said succinctly. “Maybe we’d better get out of here.”

1\. If you’ve never seen Hee Haw, you may not have run into this wonderfully changeable little ditty. The refrain is as noted. The actual lyrics changed from week to week, always laughably depressing in a ‘bad news, good news’ sort of way. Mr. Gibbs might understand the lyrics, Cheri thought they were funny.

 

Chapter 14

The men agreed with Cheri’s estimate of the situation as they began piling gold into the long boats to return to the Black Pearl. They looked back at the dark jungle above the shoreline with muttering, glad to be well out of whatever it was that had happened to them. Jack gave the order and the long boats were shoved into the surf, men clambered aboard and the oars were plied with a will to get them out to the ship.

The trip to the ship was without complication. The men passed the new treasure to the crew aboard. It was stowed away while Jack and Cheri surveyed the horizon for Rivera’s ship. True to their prediction, Rivera had held off attacking the Black Pearl. Now they had a decision to make, run for it and try to get past Rivera’s guns with the least damage, or start the fight themselves.

Oliver and Cheri looked to Jack for a decision, neither of them familiar enough with Jack’s ship to hazard a guess on the best course of action. Jack looked toward Rivera’s ship, then toward the horizon behind it. There were squalls and rough weather brewing on the open sea. To Jack’s mind, it was better to take chances with the weather than with fighting another ship. He had a distaste for getting holes poked in his ship unless absolutely necessary. He turned his telescope up the coast and smiled. He could barely make out the flag of Ana Marie’s ship to the north.

“Raise anchor! Lay on sail! We’ll give that dog a run for his money! Ready at the guns!” With those orders, the men scrambled to their stations and about their work. Cutting south and then east, they worked to outmaneuver the other pirate and head into the storm before Rivera could make out their plan. No one, not even a pirate, fought in a squall. Jack took the wheel with a grim grin. He ran his hands over the warm wood fondly. She was his ship and together they could work the magic again. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, wasn’t he?

The wind filled the Black Pearl’s sails with a snap and she moved forward, gaining momentum and speed as she cut through the waves. Cheri kept an eye on the enemy. The other ship was set to cut across their bow if possible. It all depended on the wind and the Black Pearl now.

On her own ship, Rivera cursed the Black Pearl and her Captain impartially. Her voice and her whip lashed out at her crew. “Catch me that madman!” she screamed. “I want Sparrow!”

Her second belabored his crew with a belaying pin, shoving and beating the men to their jobs. After days of waiting, the Black Pearl’s sudden taking flight had caught them flat- footed. Rivera’s translator caught some of her rage as well. It should have been several days more before Sparrow returned; Rivera wanted to know what had gone wrong.

“Tell me, old man, or your life ends here and now, “ she hissed in his face, her hand wrapped around his throat and squeezing.

He fought for air, trying to tell her he could not talk without breath. Just before his worldview went black, she released him. He dropped to the deck gasping for breath. “I do not know, Capitaine …. The trip, she is long, uncertain. Death waits at the burial place. Perhaps he did not take the treasure, my Capitaine … perhaps something else happened. The map, she does not talk to me of certainties, save that there is treasure and that it is guarded.”

For a long moment, he read death in Rivera’s eyes, then she smiled. That was, perhaps, worse. “Captain Sparrow has returned, his ship sets sail south … he will cut east before too long. We may have to follow the Sparrow to his nest before we can overtake him. Where is the other ship?”

She stalked out onto the deck, her gaze raking her crew and the eastern horizon. Foul weather was gathering, the kind of weather that always followed Sparrow’s accursed ship. “Guillermo! Can we catch her here?”

“No, Captain. The Black Pearl is too fast, her Captain … too knowledgeable. We can take the other ship …”

“Fool! And why would I want the other ship? There’s nothing on it save a brat of a bitch captain who hardly deserves the name. Follow the Black Pearl. Sparrow will lead us to his hiding place as well as to the treasure he now bears. We’ll have it all!!!!”

A round of agreement and yells greeted her yell. Her crew would benefit as the Captain profited. All was well. Half an hour later, the Black Pearl was swallowed by the foul weather, closely followed by Rivera’s ship. Captain Ana Marie watched the weather close behind the two ships and chose an alternate route to the Isle de Muerte. She prayed Jack’s luck would hold long enough for her to get there.

Cheri shivered on deck, watching to the rear and watching Jack. The idiot was singing some childish song about being really bad eggs. But, the ship following them wasn’t getting any closer yet, so maybe he wasn’t a complete idiot.

Two days after the storm blew out, with all eyes that were not otherwise engaged on ship business, fastened on the ship behind them, Cheri absently pointed out the obvious. “They’re gaining.”

“With the ship taking on water, what did ye expect?” Jack glared at her. The Black Pearl was listing to port, not badly yet, but the hold just above her waterline was not encouraging as they rode the storm swollen swells. The bilge pumps that might have saved them the trouble of working on a slanted deck had been allowed to rot by the ship’s previous captain. After all, what was a little water to the immortal crew? That was another score he’d never get to settle with the black-hearted blackguard. Or, perhaps he had …… He shook his head to clear it. Four days of running from Rivera should have put them well away from the rapacious pirate wench had that blasted piece of flotsam not been slammed at gale force into the Black Pearl’s flank.

Cheri blinked tiredly at her captain. “Aside from continuing to run to shelter and getting caught there, any ideas, Cap’n honey?” she asked with a chuckle.

He scowled at her, but his lips twitched at the appellation. “That’s Jack to ye, wench,” he shot back, shaking his head. “If the Golden Girl was closer, but the blow’s sent her off course … There’s naught between us and Rivera for now.”

“Except to run .. There’s got to be something …” Cheri’s focus turned inward even as her eyes swept the horizon and Rivera’s ship.

“An ye be thinkin’ on it, ye’ll let me know.”

“Aye, aye … Ay-yi-yi-yi … “ She wished she could remember more than the few days she’d spent on this slow moving hulk .. slow? Why did she continue to think of the ship as slow? It was a bird on the wing compared to Rivera’s ship and the Golden Girl, for all her bulk. Yet to Cheri, it was as though they moved through molasses, slow and heavy feeling. She measured their situation again. The guns were useless unless the other ship crossed their sides. Oh, for a rear mounted …..

“Jack!”

He started and turned, eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve an idea, lass?”

“Any way to move one of the cannons to the aft end of the ship?”

“There’s no port …”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Ye’ll be puttin’ another hole in me ship?”

“There are windows in the aft end,” she pointed out gently.

“Aye … Aye! You, you and you, go with her. Get me cannons where I can use ‘em.”

The crew may have thought the captain mad, but they did his bidding as always. Jack Sparrow’s luck was known to pull both him and his crew out of troubles from time to time. Now had best be one of those times.

The men moved and eight and a nine pounder up into the aft deck, just below the Captain’s cabin. There were shutters over the windows on that deck. It pained Cheri to have them break out the glass window panes, but better that than to get shot out of the water. Two hours later, the men and guns were ready.

The first Rivera knew of a problem with this chase was when the distant boom of a cannon was followed by the scream of hot iron shot cutting through the air to rip a hole in the canvas sails above her head and not that far above. A second shot shattered wood as it cut thought the bowsprit and the ship’s figurehead. Rivera screamed in anger. How dared that man damage her ship?

“Fire!” she yelled to her ever-ready crew.

“How?”

She backhanded her second-in-command, sending him reeling against a stack of rope to fall to the deck. “I said “fire”,” she hissed at him.

“We are directly behind our quarry, Capitaine, how do you suggest we fire on him?”

Rivera whirled to face the bow of her ship as the hollow boom of cannon fire heralded another incoming round of shot. Her face was livid, mottled purple and red with rage. “Damn that bastard! I want him! I want his head! I will cut out his black heart with my dagger and eat it!” she screamed into the wind and ducked as the shot sailed past her, smashing a hole in the wall of her cabin. The second shot was short, damaging only the remains of the figurehead as it fell into the deep.

Unfortunately, the only way to respond to the Black Pearl’s fire was to turn to one side or the other. To do that would cost time and headway, causing them to fall back in the race to catch the Black Pearl while her hold was full of heathen treasure. Cool-headed calculation over took anger. “Pull in sails. Drop speed.”

Bemused, her crew did as it was ordered, the ship fell back, out of range of cannon fire from the Black Pearl, but not so far back as to lose the quarry. The Captain was a canny one, she was.

On board the Black Pearl, Cheri called a halt to the firing. “She’s out of range. Damn.”

“We hit her.”

“Yeah, but not hard enough. Tough bitch.”

The blinked. It wasn’t that they hadn’t heard the language before, it just seemed so matter of fact in her use of it. “Aye. That Rivera be a tough one, she be,” one of them agreed redundantly.

Up top, Jack noticed they’d stopped firing. He took a long look at the ship lagging behind him. Rivera’s tactics were good ones. Now, did he go straight for the hideout, or did he head somewhere else, goading Rivera to attack sooner? Neither course of action appealed to him.

Cheri reappeared on deck. “Now that she’s hanging back, could we bucket brigade some of the water out of the bilge and see if we can patch that hole?”

Jack responded with a cheeky grin and a nod. Damn, that was a woman after his own heart.

 

Chapter 15

Cheri scowled at the sea and the ship following them as she and her crew labored to get a patch in place on the inside of the Black Pearl’s hull. A number of grumblers were engaged in hauling buckets of bilge water out of the ship and pouring it over the side into the choppy waters below.

Something was tickling at the back of Cheri’s mind. She hated it when things worked that way. There had to be an answer to what was lurking there, a way to get at whatever it was that was making her uneasy. Taking a crowbar to her head was not applicable. A couple of the men ducked to avoid the consequences of the scowl, never realizing that they were not the object.

Back in the present time, word came in from Kit and the hospital. The news was not good. Whatever was affecting Cheri was keeping her comatose with odd starts and fits of brain activity. The doctors were at a loss to explain what was happening to her.

“The curse?” Kit offered unhelpfully.

“Probably, knowing Cheri. Unfortunately, the doctors here are 21st century types who don’t believe in curses. See if you can get some more information out of the pirate.”

Kit’s hazel gaze met Jack’s dark look over the phone. “OK. But I suspect the man is not going to like giving me the info, or the kind of thoughts my report engenders.”

“Falling for him?”

“Mom!” The chuckle on the other end was of the “gotcha” sort. Kit smiled in spite of her worries. “Mom, you’re evil.”

“Nope, just … well, never mind. There is this really good looking Doctor on the floor …. Kit …..”

Kit’s laugh was spontaneous at the comment. “I know, I know. It’s a figure of speech. I grew up with you, remember?”

“And only one of us seems to have successfully grown up, yeah. I’ll keep you posted. See what you can find out. The Doc’s are really baffled and …. Well … Cheri’s not doing well physically. Bye.”

Kit closed her cell phone with a serious look and a sigh.

“The lady be not doing well?” Jack’s tone was regretful, though it was hard to tell whether for her or himself. Kit’s look answered his question. He tried to harden his thoughts against what was fast becoming his only course of action. What was this Cheri to him, anyway? His memories of heat and tangled limbs and sheets answered that question for him. Somehow, they had met and loved centuries earlier. His memories expanded again. Not just lovers. Cheri was perhaps a fortnight’s fun in the sack, but she was more than that on his ship. Visions of the wench in the crow’s nest, on deck, her face smeared with black powder from the cannons and so very much enjoying what she was doing ……… adventure and loving gave her almost the same fiery look of exhilaration. Again he wondered what he’d done right to know such a woman for even the short time they were together.

Then he wondered what had happened. Something ….. something odd ………..

The look of concentration on the pirate’s face kept Kit silent for the moment, a shake of the head keeping John from asking the obvious questions. Jack was chasing an elusive train of thought and Kit suspected it was important to her aunt’s survival.

While Cheri was taking down the level of water in the bilge and patching the hole in the Black Pearl’s side, Rivera was champing at the bit. She understood the need to be cautious with whatever was happening on the Black Pearl. Still, she hungered for her prey, hungered for vengeance on the pirate who had once before bested her.

Her second in command knew that feline look on his captain’s face. It did not bode well for whoever was on the receiving end. He did not know what lay between Rivera and the infamous Jack Sparrow, but it did not look as though Sparrow’s luck would hold this time. His own smile was not a nice thing to see. Soon enough, he would see the treasures that were whispered of in awe by the underbelly of the Caribbean. He would swim in gold and jewels and any woman he wanted would be his.

Rivera saw the hot, black gaze of her second and made a mental note to see that he did not survive this raid. After all, seconds were easily come by, and this one was getting ideas above his station. Gold would buy her a dozen such, all more inclined to being faithful than this one.

Rivera indulged in two quick fantasies, Captain Jack Sparrow at her mercy, his crew dead around him and the luxury gold would purchase back in Europe. Rivera would retire from her blood-thirsty ways. She would purchase land and the servants that went with it. Perhaps she would purchase a title, the son of a noble house with name and title but nothing to show for it would be at her beck and call. Her generous mouth curved into an evil smile at the thought. With Sparrow’s infernal treasure she would have everything she desired.

On the Black Pearl, Cheri focused the telescope on the following ship. The captain was a tall, lean muscled, deep bosomed woman with a nasty look about her, or so it seemed from this distance. Barbosa in drag, she thought with an internal chuckle. Well, perhaps not quite, Rivera was, after all, far better looking than Barbosa could ever lay claim to being. But her soul was quite as black from what Cheri was hearing. Cheri was quite certain that it would not do to have Rivera take the Black Pearl. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Captain Ana Marie and her ship now. Without the threat of the second ship, and with Rivera’s canny staying just out of range of the Black Pearl’s cannons, it looked like the fight would be one of hand to hand combat after the Pearl was boarded, unless Jack or Oliver could come up with a plan.

She looked around and saw Jack with a dreamy expression on his face. Oliver just looked sulky. Treasure to purchase a kingdom in the hold and another pirate was going to snatch it out of his hands, after he and Jack’s crew had faced the jungle and an unnerving curse to acquire the king’s ransom in the hold. He met the other pair of green eyes on board and scowled. That was when Cheri grinned at him and he really began to worry.

“Captain, have ye a plan?”

“What?” Jack pulled his mind back to the problem off his stern. “Er … not exactly. Ye have something in mind, lass?”

“Well, it seems we have two options. Tortuga or wherever you hide your treasure when you have too much to keep on board.”

“Aye. They’ll follow us either place.”

“How annoyed will the people of Tortuga be with a battle raging in the harbor.”

Jack laughed. “They’d be taking bets and figuring salvage.”

“And possibly firing on us also? Like dogs turning on one of their own?”

“Aye,” he agreed with a sigh. “”Tis not happy I be taking her straight to me treasure, luv.”

“No. But she doesn’t know about me. Or Oliver, exactly. She only knows that somehow you got a map and you achieved what she and her crew probably could not have done. Sail into your hidden port, Captain. Then let’s see what Oliver and I can do to turn the tables on the bitch captain behind us.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose, closely followed by Oliver’s. Cheri giggled and turned away. The looks were just too much. “Come on, Oliver. We need to do some thinking. How much longer until we reach port, Captain?”

“A day … day and a half,” Jack replied eyeing the darkening horizon ahead of them.

“Give me a tall ship and a star to guide her by,” Cheri whispered as she moved past him. For just a moment their eyes locked and all the world was between them and around them for all time. Then the moment was gone and so was she.

 

Chapter 16

James and Kit were staring at him, expectantly, waiting. Jack was thinking, but it wasn’t doing a lot of good. All he could remember was the flight from Rivera and the final confrontation between Rivera’s crew and his own, including Cheri and Oliver. After two days, Rivera was still trailing them. Cheri and Oliver cooked up a plan between them to let Rivera’s crew board the Black Pearl, never firing a shot, in deference to Jack’s desire not to have more holes poked in his ship.

“How do we make sure that Rivera doesn’t fire on us?” Cheri asked curiously. Logically, even seeing the Black Pearl sliding into safe harbor, Rivera’s crew would be likely to send a couple of shots into the other ship to make their desire to board clear.

“We know she be back there. There’s not maneuvering space in the cove, but ‘tis deep enough that to scuttle the Black Pearl with her treasure would send her straight to the bottom with no way to get the gold, savvy?”

“Mmm.” Cheri looked thoughtful. “So, can you swim?” she turned her gaze on Oliver.

“Why?”

“Well, two options. We can swim to Rivera’s ship as it follows Jack into the cove or we can try sneaking across once Rivera’s crew is fighting the Black Pearl’s.”

“To what purpose?” Jack asked.

“Sink her.”

Jack and Oliver both looked thoughtful. They agreed that it would be better to sink Rivera’s ship as it came through the straits. Too close to the Black Pearl and getting back out of the cove could become dangerous.

“And sinking it in the ….. oh. Yes. Steer her slightly off course and there’s nothing to worry about. So, it still comes down to, can you swim?”

“No.”

“And you’re wandering around in a ship on the open sea? How smart is that?”

Jack threw back his head and laughed. It was a question he’d asked himself from time to time. Although he knew a part of the answer where the world’s official navies were concerned, pressed men were less likely to jump ship in a port if they couldn’t swim away. “I can swim.”

“Then we leave Oliver and your second in command of the ship and we swim back to Rivera’s and do what we can.”

He considered the plan. It wasn’t bad. Not that he cared for swimming with the sharks that swarmed the straits, but the ships would be moving slowly to avoid damage from the drowned ships that lined the passage. It was a plan and a workable one. It could still leave Rivera alive, but not for long. He nodded his agreement.

Rivera stared at the prize she wanted through her telescope and worried about the other ship’s slowing as they neared a rocky and inhospitable looking island with nothing to recommend it. The rock was wreathed with steam or fog, jagged peaks of stone reaching out of the water to make passage difficult. She slowed her ship, taking note of the Black Pearl’s slower speed and wondering just what the blasted captain of the Black Pearl was up to.

Her second pointed out that the fabled Isle de Muerte, if this was indeed that island, was difficult to make a safe harbor on if one did not know the way. Obviously, Captain Sparrow knew the way in, thus following his lead would be reasonable. Rivera ground her teeth and nodded. She wanted her hands on Sparrow’s throat and could taste her revenge now. Neither of them noticed the ropes being carefully lowered down the side of the Pearl to let two figures gently into the water as the ship continued on its way.

Jack and Cheri moved quietly through the surprisingly clear waters, Cheri forcibly sitting on a desperate desire to submerge and get a better look at the wrecks beneath them. She focused on the ship coming up on them, readying the grappling hook she carried and tossing it accurately at the side of the ship. The hook caught in the wood and secured with a tug, pulling her along with the ship as it moved forward. She caught Jack and helped him secure a grip, then held the rope end so he’d have a taut line to climb up the side of the ship.

Wear and tear on the hull provided handholds. The two quickly scaled the hull, stopping for a moment just below the rail to assess the situation. A quick peek over the edge showed that most of Rivera’s crew was target fixated on the Black Pearl. Quietly, Jack and Cheri crept over the rail and hid in the shadows of the stairway leading to the upper deck. The helmsman was keeping a weather eye on the ship in front of him, duplicating the shifts of course as closely as possible.

There wasn’t any other way to get to the helm than to rush it.

“On three?” Jack nodded. “One … two ….. “ they were both in motion as she took a breath and said “Three!! “

Outnumbered, the man on the wheel went after Jack, perceiving him as more of a threat. The crack of a belaying pin on the back of his head told him he did not choose wisely. Jack grabbed the wheel and spun Rivera’s ship to port. The ship responded and changed heading into the stabbing upward remains of masts and then onto rocks.

“What the ………..” Rivera’s eyes flamed as she saw strangers at her helm. She ran forward only to be thrown to the deck as her ship hit resistance. Spines of rock formed as ocean water cooled lava ripped into the hull, then broke off allowing the water to rush into the lower decks.

“Captain, we’re holed!”

Black anger seized Rivera. She scrambled to her feet even as her ship began to list to one side with the taking on of seawater, pulling a pistol from the sash around her trim waist, she cocked the hammer and fired. “I never liked you,” she ground out, throwing the pistol and drawing her sword.

“Sparrow!!!!!!!!!!!!” she screamed and lunged for the stairs.

“Uhm, Jack. I think now would be a good time to … oh shit!” Cheri ducked a slash aimed at her head and kicked out at the man wielding the sword.

The two were engulfed in a fight as Rivera hit the top step and the upper deck. The ship shuddered, swiftly settling lower in the water. It occurred to Cheri that fighting on a sinking ship was almost as stupid as fighting on a burning one. That wasn’t stopping the men around her.

“Sparrow!” Rivera growled and the men between them fell away leaving Jack and the captain standing at opposite ends of a narrow walkway. “You ………. Bastard! Again.”

Taking in Rivera’s shaking with rage, Jack relaxed into a pose. “Hello, luv. Been a while.” He ducked as she threw a dagger at him and pulled his sword to the ready.

“You ………. I have wanted this moment for a long time …..”

“Ah. Trying to salve your hurt by killing me on a sinking ship in shark infested waters …. Aye, that sounds like a plan. Not a good one, but what can ye expect.” Something glimmered in his dark eyes.

“You …. “

“Bit redundant, isn’t she?” Cheri called as she heaved another man over the side into the rapidly rising water level.

“Tell your doxy to shut up.”

“Or what, darlin’? Ye’ll be cuttin’ her throat the way you did Chun’s?”

Cheri’s attention snapped to Jack as she decked another pirate. That soft tone was not a good sign. She wondered who Chun was as she sought to catch her breath and figure out how many more pirates there were in this crew. The onslaught on her stopped abruptly as one last, stout colorful figure hit the deck hard.

Rivera smiled at the memory. “It would have been better had she begged. Hell, if she’d begged, I might have left her alive. But she wouldn’t. She loved you, Jack. She died for you. Her and the kid she carried. Well, I guess you proved you weren’t a eunuch. Shall we?” She flourished her sword as she got near enough to stab at the target of her hatred.

“Chun was a proud woman from a proud family,” Jack came back with a soft smile. “Pity you killed her. Bet her husband wasn’t happy. But ye’d not know about that sort of thing, would you. Rivera has no heart and not much in the way of smarts.” The smile turned into the bared teeth of a growl as he lunged forward.

The fight was on, ringed by what was left of Rivera’s crew. Pistols at the ready in case he tried to escape, the pirates watched the fight as the ship continued to sink. Cheri didn’t dare take out any of the men watching the fight for fear of the rest turning on Jack immediately.

Rivera was a fine swordsman, a supple wrist and years of practice had given her all the edge she normally needed. Most pirates were not trained swordsmen. On the other hand, Jack was nimble footed, strong and supple of wrist and fighting for the two things about which he cared most; the Black Pearl and his life. He knew there was a card up his sleeve with Cheri lurking around the background. The uncertain footing of the settling wreck under them was a liability to both fighters, as was the close circumstances of the fight.  
Both combatants were breathing hard when Rivera’s sword hit and ripped a long gouge up Jack’s arm. A back swing of Jack’s sword broke Rivera’s blade leaving her with about a foot and a half of steel instead of the three feet. Jack’s sword flashed to rest at her throat.

“Kill him!”

“How many of you can swim?” Cheri asked curiously as the water began to lap over the deck below them.

The men looked as one. There was a long boat approaching from the Black Pearl. With luck, there was enough room for the men remaining, Jack and Cheri. As one, they dropped their weapons; some of them discharging randomly and making people flinch.

“No!” Rivera howled and dove for a pistol that had not discharged. She grabbed it up, turned and looked very surprised as she heard the report of a pistol when she had not fired. A hole blossomed in the front of her vest, blood rapidly staining the fabric around it. Rivera dropped to her knees, then fell on her face. Behind her, lying on the stairs, lay her second in command, his eyes now open and unfocused as death claimed him.

Jack also looked surprised. Then he shrugged his shoulders and sheathed his sword before looking around. Cheri’s laugh brought a curious look to his face.

“Shall we go? Or we’ll be swimming to the Black Pearl.”

The men in the long boat plied their oars with a will. The suction as Rivera and her ship went to their grave was enough to take a smaller boat down with them and none on board wanted to accompany her. Only Jack observed her passing, standing at the aft end of the little boat, his hat held over his heart.

“You’re honoring her?” Cheri asked curiously.

“Death is important,” he said seriously.

 

Chapter Seventeen

Cheri turned restlessly on the hard hospital bed. The EEG was going nuts, jerking and sputtering in response to the amount of activity going on in her brain. Then Cheri and the EEG stopped, almost dead. The lines went from spastic spikes to bare bobbles of ink on the paper. Kim watched her friend with concern. Kim, Kit, Tamara Taakin and Jack Sparrow were the handful of living people who knew Cheri’s secrets. Kim wished Tam was with her. Not that she believed in any of that gypsy mumbo jumbo, she told herself with a quirk of a grin. No, of course not. Kim believed in what worked, Romany sorcery, technology or blind faith. Only just now, she didn’t have access to any of those. For so long Cheri had been a part of her world she could not imagine a life that did not know the older woman was out there somewhere.

Kim took another look at the EEG. The lines were getting flatter. Alpha, Beta, Delta waves were all dropping steadily. Kim didn’t completely understand the terms, but she knew that flat lines were bad, very bad.

“Dammit, Cheri. Don’t you dare do this to me,” she fussed quietly, not wanting to disturb other patients and not wanting to be overheard. “How many times have I thought you were dead? Blown up, shot, falling out of air planes, falling down mountains and stairways …. Poisoned, throttled, smacked and herded through a VR lifetime that none of us could believe, and you came through it all. I am damned well not gonna lose you to a fuckin’ pre-Columbian curse! ….” Kim thought about that for a moment. “Ok, I guess that technically Cortez is not pre-Columbian, but still ……….. are you listening to me?”

No, Cheri wasn’t listening to her. Cheri was trapped inside her head and was dying. It was insane. Kim choked a half-sobbing laugh. When wasn’t their life insane? She pulled out her cell phone and checked in with her daughter. “Hi, Kit. Any ideas yet? … Yeah, we’re losing her and I don’t know why.”

Kit looked at Jack who was studiously looking elsewhere. She took a moment to admire the slim t-shirt and denim clad figure. Even in modern clothes he looked dangerously rakish and sexy. “Jack?”

He looked around at her curiously, trying hard not to look like he understood the question. “Aye?”

“We’re losing her.”

“Who? Ah, the black haired wench that be yer auntie. Pity.”

“Mom, I’ll get back to you.”

Jack was absolutely certain he did not like the curve of the lips that went with her comment into the little device they used to talk to each other across distances. John’s speculative look was equally unsettling. Jack backed away from the two of them. They advanced. He turned and ran.

Kit looked after him with a half laugh. “Where the hell does he think he’s going?”

A number of amused minor deities of a number of no longer in vogue pantheons chuckled at this essentially rhetorical question. Jack? Think? At the moment, mutually exclusive concepts.

As the long boat neared the Black Pearl, Cheri was frowning at Jack’s soaked shirtsleeve. “You, to your quarters,” she ordered as they clambered up the ladder the crew had thoughtfully lowered for them. Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You’re bleeding, my idiot captain.”

“Show some respect, wench,” he shot back and staggered as a wave of light-headedness rolled over him. Then again, maybe there was something to what she said. He looked over at her in surprise as she slid under his undamaged arm and helped him to his cabin.  
Once there, she deftly ripped the sleeve of his shirt open and took a look at the long gash Rivera had cut up his arm. “This is gonna scar.” She tore a strip off the linen bed sheet, making a pad to press over the wound. “Here, hold that for a minute.” She walked over to the door, flung it opened and prepared to yell for hot water. As Oliver was standing right there, she asked him to collect some hot water instead of bellowing in his face.

“Do I look like a servant?” he demanded irritably.

“No, you look like a man who honors his debts and possibly gives a damn about his partners in crime. Water? Hot? Please?”  
Grumbling, Oliver headed for the galley. He was still grumbling when he returned with a pot of water and some relatively clean rags.

He frowned as he saw Jack was lying down, his eyes closed, his hand loosely holding the pad over the rip in his arm. “Damn. How bad is it?”

“Once it’s clean, I’ll let you know.”

Cheri took the water and sat on the edge of Jack’s bed. “Hey, still awake?” she asked softly. She got a sort of grunt in reply. “This will probably hurt. Let me have the pad. Thanks.” As gently as possible, she cleaned the deep, angry cut that angled from the outside edge of his elbow nearly to his shoulder. It still oozed blood as she cleaned, but seemed to be starting to clot on its own. The cut was deep, but no bone showed, which was good. She grabbed a half full bottle of rum.

“Uhm, Jack, this is really going to hurt.”

He opened his eyes and frowned at her for a short moment before the sting of alcohol hitting raw flesh. He yelled and tried to sit up. She held him down while the alcohol did its work. He cussed. She laughed.

“Ye find it amusing, do ye?” he demanded angrily. “That’s me rum. What is it about women and rum?” he roared. The pain in his arm was subsiding, but he was still angry.

“Uhm …. I don’t know,” Cheri answered, still chuckling. “Maybe you should tell me about your previous experiences some day?”

He lay back against the only pillow, sucking in breaths and blowing them out angrily until the worst of the alcohol burn subsided. “Why …”

“Alcohol cleans the wound. Less chance of infection … say, gangrene? … therefore less chance of losing your arm. Not that you seem to have a lot of problem with infections,” she added, having seen the number of scars he bore indicating damage survived. “No sense in taking a chance with her blade not being as well kept up as your own, is there?”

The dark eyes were nearly black, measuring her words and her demeanor. He relaxed a bit and nodded. “Aye. Bind it up, will ye.” The energy provided by the anger dissipated leaving him feeling wrung out and tired. By the time Cheri finished binding his wound and fed him a cup of rum, his eyes were closed and he was gently snoring.

Cheri yawned as she finished wringing out the rags she’d used to wipe off Jack’s arm. “Oliver, I hate to be annoying again, but could you get someone to take the water out and toss it overboard? Please?” She shifted onto the bed next to Jack. She could catch a few winks and keep an eye on her Captain at the same time from where she stretched out next to him.

“Aye. That I can. He’ll not lose the use of his arm?” Genuine concern touched his voice.

“No. It’s ugly and it will scar, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. I’d be more worried if it were a stab through his arm.”

“Good. Then I’ll be bidding ye a good rest.” With a shrug, Oliver picked up the pan of water and took it out with him, closing the door behind him.

Sunshine woke both of them. Jack’s arm was uncomfortable, but both of them had expected that. Jack reached for his companion and grimaced. “Hell.”

Cheri laughed. “Doubtful. Been there. Not nearly as nice as this. You lie back …….. Let me do the work ……..”

He did. She did. They ……….. well, it was nearly lunch when Oliver knocked on the door, gave a long suffering look at the giggles that sounded inside the cabin , and pointed out that he was bored standing there with food and drink outside the door.

Cheri opened the door, tucking her shirt into her breeches and making no attempt to hide what she and Jack had been up to, which would have been a little difficult considering Jack’s considerable state of undress. A sheet kept him modest enough for company. “Bring it in. We’re in the cove?”

“Aye. Ye have a well trained crew, Jack Sparrow …”

“Captain …” Jack amended drowsily.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” Oliver agreed with a half bow. “They’ve already shipped your part of the treasure into the cavern. Won’t let me in there,” he said pointedly.

Jack sent him really cheeky grin. “O’ course not. Me men know what they’re doing, all right and tight. Golden Girl shown up?”

“Yes. About an hour ago. Why did you change the ship’s name? Maid d’Orleans was perfectly good ……..”

“But did not fit her new Captain. And what Captain Ana Marie wants, she gets.”

“The name fits her captain,” Cheri agreed.

Jack slept for a while after he ate, leaving Cheri and Oliver to go up on deck and watch as the last of the treasure was shipped into the cavern. Something about the cleft in the cliff made Cheri feel odd. She knew that cleft, knew the cliff … for just a moment, she saw it in early morning light, a single ship at anchor in the cove. The world tilted then righted itself. Cheri put a hand on the railing to steady … herself? Or the World, depending on which actually needed it.

“Ugly island,” Oliver commented.

 

Chapter Eighteen

Oliver called it an ugly island, yet the Isle de Muerte looked far from ugly in the eyes of the two crews. Here was the guardian of their treasure, a spiky lava island thrown out of the waters years earlier, water washed and lashed until it provided a safe harbor for their ships and a vault for their gold. Both captains could find this island to stash their hauls and to appropriate what was needed in funding to keep them going.

Truthfully, neither captain had felt much need for the pirating of other ships lately. That didn’t keep them long in port, however. They sailed as they would, keeping to the ocean for months except to gather supplies. It was a good life. Now and again, as fate brought them plunder and profit, they would sail back to the island that funded their freedom. The cove was a safe harbor, even in storms. Anchored near each other, the crews of the two ships visited back and forth as they worked on needed repairs, although it would take some doing to replace the glass in the windows Cheri had broken out.

Midway through the afternoon, Jack joined his crew on deck. His arm was in a colorful sling torn from a length of velvet. Only that and an occasional twitch of his face revealed that the wound troubled him. Cheri looked up from the rope she was splicing and smiled, then blinked. For just a moment, she’d had two Jack Sparrows looking at her. She knew there was something here to explain her presence, to find her memory, but she hadn’t a clue what.

“How’s the arm?”

“I’ll live.” She gave him a “well, duh” look that made him smile at her. He offered his hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s go see my treasure.”

“I thought we were standing on her deck.”

“My ‘other’ treasure.”

They took one of the long boats and rowed into the cleft in the cliff. The water beneath them wasn’t just tidal, as they moved further in, Cheri could see that the flow was from inside the island, that meant a fresh water source ... or the water moved completely through the island, which she doubted. The prow of the boat slid up onto a sandy area, not quite a beach, but safe enough to leave the boat without worry of it getting holed by rocky outcroppings. They stepped out onto the wet sand, pulled the boat up further to keep it from sliding back into the water and walked into Sparrow’s “vault”.

The sprinkling of dropped treasure, coins and jewelry scattered here and there as though dropped in transit, was interesting, but nothing prepared Cheri for the magnitude of what lay inside. Sunlight streamed through holes in the roof of the cavern, gleam off a dragon’s hoard of treasure. Gold, silver, gems, chests and piles of loot lay on every dry spot in the place. And in the center of it all, on a slight rise covered in gold, stood a stone chest.

Jack watched her as she took it in. The sheer magnitude of the treasure was almost unimaginable, yet it was the chest that drew her eye. She looked away from it, stepping forward carefully on the slippery rocks and slides of coins strewn across them. She stopped to look at an Incan figure, pre-Columbian, solid gold and heavy. She moved on, her slender fingers twitched occasionally, but she reached out for none of it. It wasn’t the gold that attracted her, or the jewels, her steps carried her to the chest. Jack tensed as she neared it. He couldn’t help calling out to her.

“Don’t …” he said as her hand fell on the lid. He pulled his pistol and took aim as ran her hand over the lid. He knew that look, the dreamy, drunk look of a pull too strong to resist. He’d felt it reflected on his own face when he stood on the Black Pearl’s deck. He shoved the pistol back in his sash and ran forward as she went limp and started to fall away from the chest, slithering back down the incline. He stopped beside her, looking down at the twitching and upturned eyes. A frisson of fear shot up his spine, yet he knew there was nothing here that could hurt him. He knelt and pulled her into his arms.

“Darlin’ … “

A long shuddering breath and she pulled out of whatever state she’d gone into. She looked up at him and blinked. He was had to pull into focus. Then she smiled. “Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow …… Shit.” She grabbed and held on as a convulsive shudder ran through her. She remembered this cavern, the treasure, the ship in the cove, all of it. She didn’t belong here. Time was pulling her apart as she strove to find one existence or the other to hold on to.

“What is it?”

“I don’t ……… I don’t belong here, Jack,” she gasped. “Something ……… “ She convulsed again and all Jack could do was hold on and hope it didn’t last long.

Captain Jack Sparrow stood staring at the Aztec chest. It was hot and airless in the storeroom where it stood, and Jack shivered with cold. He knew the answer to who the black haired wench was and where she’d come from. He knew the answer to how to stop what was happening to Kim’s favorite aunt. What he didn’t know was if he had the courage to do what needed doing.

He pulled the grinning death’s head coin from his pocket and stared into the skull’s empty eye sockets. He’d been as close to in love with the black haired wench on his ship as he’d ever been, and he’d had to lose her. He wasn’t in love now. Hell, he’d been dead two centuries and more, a ghost trapped in a cavern alone.

He ran his thumb over the raised carving of the medallion. He grinned suddenly. Well, his name was still known, even if for the wrong reasons. That young whelp with his pale imitation of a pirate’s face was proof he’d made his mark on the world a permanent one. Elaine’s whelp might not have been his, but there had been a child and he knew that John’s ancestors carried the true line onward.  
He strode forward and shoved the lid off the chest. Inside, wickedly gleaming up at him, were 881 copies of the golden circle he held in his hand. He pulled the dagger Cheri had used to cut her hand from his boot and made a swift cut along his own palm, folding the stinging cut around the medallion for a long moment before opening his hand and dropping the medallion into the midst of the others that grinned up at him.

He took a long breath and decided this wasn’t so bad as Kit and John found him. Then it felt decidedly odd, as though something were draining out of him. Just in case it was blood, he decided to fix his dark, worried gaze on Kim instead of looking down.  
Kit’s first thought was that Jack had filled his clothes with sand. Under his boots, she could see pale granules filtering down and piling on the floor. It wasn’t until the clothing collapsed in an empty pile on top of the sand that she realized what she was seeing. Jack, clad in his pirate days outfit stood there, slightly transparent, looking just a little sad.

“Oh, Jack …. “

It lifted his heart a little to see the regret on her face. He gave her a lopsided smile and prepared for the end, which, somewhat anti-climactically, did not arrive. After a long couple of minutes, he gave up waiting for whatever it was everyone else experienced when they died and accepted that for whatever reason, he was a ghost. He gave his audience his best insouciant grin.  
“Well, looks like I’m t’ be about fer a bit. Best we go look in on yer auntie?”

Kit’s cell phone, ever alert for the opportune moment, rang. She answered it; a look of joy lit her face at what she heard.  
On the Isle de Muerte, Jack Sparrow felt Cheri relax in his arms. She was breathing hard, but the convulsive stiffening was over for now. Her eyelids fluttered up and he looked down into the incredibly green eyes that were so reminiscent of Oliver Green’s and knew that something momentous was about to happen. He opened his mouth to tell her how much he cared about her and closed it again as she faded completely from his sight and his arms leaving him holding empty air. His mouth worked a couple of times before he settled on a puzzled, mournful look and just sitting there in the midst of the accumulated treasure.

Oliver found him there as darkness fell. In the light of the torch he could see that Jack was alone. “Where ….”

“Gone, mate. Back to where she came from.” He stood, turned and glared at the chest. For just a moment, he wondered if it would be worth it, would he find her again if ……..

No. Not now. One day he would feel the oddness of the curse that lay on those coins, but not today. He turned away, straightened and settled his coat and baldric comfortably on his shoulders and went out of the cavern followed by Oliver.  
At the entrance, Oliver took one last look around the treasure room and shook his head. If he’d known Jack had this much treasure … he shook his head and warded off the thoughts. After all, he wasn’t a pirate, was he?

As Kit and John were watching Jack’s interesting transformation from undead to ghost, Cheri jerked awake and sat up, or tried to do so, choking on the ventilator tube in her throat as she called Jack’s name. Kim yelled for a nurse and for help getting the tube out of Cheri’s throat ASAP.

Half an hour later, her throat raw but cleared of plastic and having put up with all the tests the doctors could think of to put her through, except the CATscan they wanted to schedule her for the next day, Cheri looked at Kim who was looking back at her. “Where’s

Jack,” she rasped.

“Aunt Cheri!” Kit bolted into the room.

“Jack?” she repeated as John Sparrow limped in behind Kit. She looked him over with her eyebrows rising slightly.

“He’s back at the lab. He’s … uh … stuck.”

For a moment Cheri’s eyes brightened with unshed tears for the man she’d known and the ghost he was again. “Dammit, he didn’t have to ……….”

“You were dying,” Kim cut in harshly. “Really dying.”

“Was I? Or was I just accumulating someplace … somewhen else?” she held a hand up to forestall Kim’s response. “I’m not arguing. I just ……… It’s not …”

“Fair?” John supplied wryly.

She nodded with a small sad smile of her own. “Yeah. Who said life was fair, I know. Who’re you?”

“That, my favorite aunt, is John Sparrow, possibly not the lineal descendent of your pirate but a definite look alike. How are you?”

“Alive.”

“And?”

She lay back wearily. “I‘ll tell you what it’s like to be a weirdness magnet in the 17th century, some time.”

“Ok. Get some rest, we’re taking care of things. Jack’ll be there when you get back. We’re just glad we’re getting you back.”

“Thanks, brat.”

Kit rolled her eyes and went out of the room.

End


End file.
